As the Years Go By
by SupernaturalFanPerson
Summary: A series of one-shots that show a glimpse of the Winchesters' lives starting from Sam's first birthday and every year after! Everything from Hurt!Sam or Dean to fluff and everything in between. "I just wanted you to be a kid...Just for a little while longer." -Dean Winchester to Sam, All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2
1. Birfday

**Okay**,** I know this isn't a real one-shot, because I'm pretty sure a one-shot has to be one hundred words or less and I couldn't manage to stop at one hundred. This story, as I said in the summary, will follow the Winchesters through their lives, focusing on Dean and Sam, starting when Sam's turning one, Mary's death fresh in everyone's lives, and ending... well, I don't know when yet... I guess, it depends. If you have time, pretty please review and tell me what you think!**

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><p><strong><em><span>Year One: <span>_**_Birfday_

__Dean picked his little brother up with ease, a task almost impossible for such a little boy, unless, of course, that little boy has had as much practice as Dean has.

"Carefully, Dean." John said, watching nervously from the edge of his seat as Dean set little Sammy down on the table.

"Daddy?"

Sam clutched his finger and Dean held his arm behind himself as he turned to face his father so Sam didn't have to let go.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Mommy isn't going to be here for Sam's first birfday, is she?"

John put his head in his hands. "No, son, she isn't." He answered with a muffled voice.

Dean put Sam in his lap, holding the kid like a professional. "Well, doesn't she want to watch Sammy eat his birfday cake? Mommy likes birfday cake a lot."

"She does." _Did_, he thought.

Dean looked up at his dad. "Will Mommy come to Sammy's birfday next year?"

"No, son, she won't."

"Well, doesn't she want to come?" He kept his face serious as he glanced from Sam in his arms to his father, biting his lip in concentration.

"I'm sure she'd want to be here,"

"Do you want her to be here?"

"I do."

Dean thought for a moment, the kind of deep thinking young kids do over the simplest of things, though this was far from simple. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why his mom wouldn't come even though she wanted to.

He stuck his thumb back in his mouth.

Dean finally shrugged and hopped up, handing Sam to his dad. "Okay," Dean skipped to the staircase that lead to the second floor of their apartment as if nothing had happened.

Sam whimpered. "Shhhh... Shhhh..." John rocked Sam as the little boy began to get teary eyed again.

John was just about to stand up when Dean popped his head around the corner. "Make sure Mommy gets an invitation. Maybe that's the problem."

"Good idea, Dean-o." Dean raced back up the stairs, his feet clomp-clomp-clomping on each step. Sam's chin began to quiver again, drawing John's attention back to his youngest son.

"Shhh..." He rocked Sammy slowly. Sam'd been doing this ever since Mary had died, the whole curious crying thing. So used to being kissed goodnight and good morning by his mother every day and then transitioning to her vanishing without a trace.

To Sam, the fire was just a vague nightmare, though it haunted John nightly. "She's not coming back..." John whispered to his son, soothing him not with the words he was speaking, but his calm, fatherly tone.

"She's not coming back and you, little Sammy, are going to have to get used to it if Daddy's ever going to get some sleep." Sam looked up at him with huge brown eyes, like a puppy dog.

John resented the time when Dean would be old enough to know the truth and understand that Mary was never coming back, invitation or no invitation. And Sam's "birfday cake" lay on the counter, a cheap discard from the local grocery store.

He remembered once when Mary wrote down a great guy for Sam's first birthday cake. Said it would be special, like baby books. A number on a sticky note that was lost in the fire with everything else.

"She's not coming back, and you're going to have to get used to it." Sam's eyelids began to droop sleepily. John swore the kid was nocturnal, the way he bawled his eyes out all night and slept all day. "We're all going to have to get used to it." He whispered.

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><p><strong>That was a little on the depressing side, but trust me when I say these'll range from sad to sweet to funny! As I said, if you have time, review? It would make me happy to know what you're thinking! I'll add Sam's second year (And Dean's sixth!) as soon as possible! Hope you guys liked it! It only gets better as Sam gets older! (And more fun to write...)<strong>


	2. Mac 'n Cheese or Cereal

**You're not going to believe this: TWO new chapters today, AND the possibility of another tomorrow! Year Two is kind of not the happiest thing either, just a little cute (and long) but Year 4, to be added mañana, is very easygoing. Pinky promise.**

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><p><em><strong>Year<strong>** Two: Mac 'n Cheese or Cereal**_

He got the call around four and had the boys in the Impala by five, strapping Sam into his car seat and watching Dean buckle in next to him.

"It's important," Caleb had said. "Might have to do with the thing that got your wife." Needless to say, John had had Sam and Dean packed in the car as fast as possible, promising a trip to stay at a friend's house for a couple days.

"What's his name?" Dean asked as they pulled into a large lot, cars stacked on both sides.

"His name is Bobby."

Dean hopped out, dragging his duffel bag of clothes behind him. "Is he nice?"

John hesitated, hands around Sam and ready to pull him out. He'd met Bobby shortly after Mary... died... but he didn't know him that well. He trusted the man, obviously, if he was leaving his kids with him, but besides hunting with him for the past two years, he hadn't caught much of a glimpse of what Bobby was like when he wasn't on a case.

"He's nice to you if you're nice to him." He answered.

Dean frowned. "He sure does sound like a lot of fun..." He grumbled sarcastically.

"Aw, cheer up, Squirt, you'll be okay." He settled Sam on his hip and took Dean's hand.

"You'll come back as soon as possible?"

"'Course." John said. They had reached the door now, and he steadied his two year old on his wobbly feet, kneeling down so he was eye to eye with Dean. "You'll be fine, Dean-o. You might even have fun!"

Dean rolled his eyes as the door swung open, a tall man in a baseball hat looking down on them. "John,"

"Bobby," They greeted each other.

"You can come in, boys." Bobby nodded towards the house with his head, reaching a hand out to take Dean's load.

"Take care of your brother, okay, little man?" Dean nodded.

"I always do."

"I know."

John stood up and smiled at a reluctant Bobby, turning back towards the Impala. "Daddy?" Sam cried confusedly as John walked away.

"He'll be back soon." Six-year-old Dean explained. Sam clasped his hand tightly and tottered into the strange house with his brother.

The living room was wall to wall books with the occasional bottle of scotch or a plate of crumbs resting on the covers. "Make yourselves at home." He said as Dean sat on the couch and helped Sam climb up beside him.

Bobby looked over just in time to see Sam's little hand reach out towards the nearest stack of old books. "Stop!" Bobby instructed.

The noise was sudden and loud after the awkward silence, and Sam jumped, knocking his hand into the old pages and sending them crashing to the floor.

"Goddammit!" Bobby fumed, causing Sam's chin to quiver.

Dean turned as the two-year-old buried his eyes into his older brother's chest. He murmured soft words into Sam's ear.

"S-sorry." Bobby muttered. He'd never had kids, and wasn't big on the empathetic side of things.

Dean looked up at him with a nervous and scared look in his eyes. "Just take us to our room, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Down the hallway was a small room that used to be a guest room. His wife had hinted at a nursery but a situation like that never came in to play, he thought with a sad shudder.

"I'll just, uh," He mumbled, moving books and shuffling papers to make a clear path through the bedroom. "There's only, uh, one bed but-"

"We'll be okay." Dean interrupted, pulling a puffy-eyed Sam off of him.

Bobby acted like he wanted to say something, but seemed to decide against it. "I'll leave you two alone."

Dean nodded. "Good idea," He said seriously.

Bobby closed the door quietly, admonishing himself for the way he treated John's boys. He hadn't meant to snap and he certainly hadn't expected to make the little one, Sam, cry.

The hunter made a bold decision to call his friend, maybe learn some pivotal things about his sons that would help them get along.

Five minutes later, he was beginning to resent his idea. As it turned out, John was proud of his kids and watched their every move like a hawk.

"...And Sammy says he likes Mac and Cheese, but he really doesn't. He's just being polite. I know, and he's only two. Dean does though, he'll eat it by the pound, but Sam's more of a cereal kid. They're pretty clingy all the time, but don't try to separate 'em when I'm not around. Dean's protective, like a Shepherd. He'll growl and everything. And don't be surprised if Sam doesn't say a word the entire time..."

Bobby listened, put it on speaker while he cleaned up Sam's mess, and added some "yeah"s and "m-hm"s as he worked. So much that he didn't realize until he looked up that Sam was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hey, call you back."

He hung up and turned to kneel in front of the toddler. "'m sorry." Sam mumbled softly, a petrified expression on his face.

"No, no. I'm sorry, Sam. It's my fault. I shouldn't a snapped at you like that."

Sam nodded.

"Where's Dean?"

"He's asleeping." Sam answered. "He can't be waked up by no one 'cept me when he's tired."

"Why's he so tired?" Bobby asked, trying to milk the chance to speak to the youngest Winchester.

"He was up late."

"Doing what?"

"I dunno. Pwobably waiting for me to sleep."

Bobby got down a box of Lucky Charms, checked the expiration date, and poured it into a bowl while Sam looked on in interest. "Why weren't you asleep Sam?"

He shrugged. "I felt all by myself."

"Well, Dean was right there."

"But Daddy was gone." Bobby sighed as he poured the milk and gestured for Sam to sit down at the table.

"Well, think about this as a sort of summer camp. You can do whatever you want and you'll never have to be by yourself."

Sam smiled and bit his lip, taking and relishing in the first bite of his cereal. "I like that idea." Bobby smiled back.

When Dean shuffled in with bed head, rubbing his eyes tiredly, he seemed stunned to see Sam chatting it up with Uncle Bobby.

"Sammy? What're ya doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Eating cereal. Want some?"

Bobby anticipated Dean's face ("Cereal for dinner?") and rummaged hastily through his messy cupboards. "Here we go."

He stood up and held out a box of Macaroni and Cheese. "How about that?"

Dean grinned, his stomach growling. "Woah, yeah! How'd you know?" He questioned.

Bobby waved him off. "I've got my sources, idjit."

Dean smiled and Sam slurped another spoonful of cereal.

"What's an idjit?"

"Nothing." Bobby replied, pouring hot water into the Macaroni mix. "It's nothing." But as he watched the little kids talking, Dean teasing his brother and receiving giggles in return, he realized these two were a fresh breath in the world of hunting, a chance to make things right. He just wished they didn't have to grow up in it.

"Mitts off!" Sam burst, lightly slapping Dean's hand out of his cereal. Bobby chuckled. Kids sure do pick up everything they hear. "They're my smarshsmellows you idjit!"

Yep, Sam and Dean Winchester were growing on him quickly, he thought with a hint of a smile.

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><p><strong>Yes, yes, that was long. But there's another (shorter) one coming up today! Thanks for any alerts, favorites, etcetera :)<strong>


	3. Please, For Me?

**As promised, another chapter! Year 3:**

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><p><em><strong>Year 3: "Please, for me?"<strong>_

Sam was three, and it had started simply when John had gone to wake him up from a nap for dinner.

Sam was sweating, beads running down his forehead. He rubbed his eyes lethargically.

"Sammy! PB and J!" A cheerful Dean called. He bounded over from the small kitchenette happily. His smile knowingly turned into a frown before he even got close.

"What's wrong." He stated sullenly.

"I think Sam has a fever." John ran his hand through Sam's hair as the big eyed toddler looked up at him in a daze. "I'll find a thermometer."

He rubbed little Sam's shoulder as he stood up. Dean heard the front door slam.

He crawled onto the bed and sat next to his brother. Sam turned and snuggled against him, his head resting in the bend of Dean's arm. His eyes closed and his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

"Found it!" John shouted from across the small space. He slammed the door shut and walked in before realizing his oldest son was giving him a very ticked off shush, tiny finger held to his lips with a frown and a gesture towards his brother.

"Found it," The hunter repeated in a whisper, holding up an ear thermometer. He stuck it slowly and gently into Sam's ear until he heard the beep.

John whistled softly. "103.1, that's not good, Sammy."

He rummaged through his first aid and found some toddler Tylenol. "Wake him up, Dean." John ordered as he measured out the thick pink liquid.

"But he just fell asleep!"

"He needs something to bring down the fever."

"But-"

"Wake him up, Dean."

Dean nodded and nudged Sam, rubbing his back and helping his brother into a sitting position. John held up the cup.

Sam made a disgusted face. "Yucky!"

"Sam, you have to take it!"

Sam crossed his arms and shook his head. "Yucky!"

"Sam, it's for your own good!"

Dean bravely held up a hand to his father. "Let me," He said softly.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, De'?"

"Please drink the yucky medicine. For me?" Dean asked simply. The 'for me' was all it took for Sam to comply. He downed the medicine in one gulp.

"Thanks," Dean said, sweeping Sam's sweaty hair out of his face. At seven he was already mature and caring. John turned the light off to try to help Sam get to sleep, but he tossed and turned when Dean reluctantly left to eat dinner.

Dean shoveled the food into his mouth as quickly as his father let him and tucked himself under the covers, his body instantly molding into Sam's.

John felt like warning Dean that it was contagious but he knew it would do no good, and when Dean caught it less than a week later, faced with the same awful plastic cup of "bubble gum flavored" medicine, what did Sam say?

He held Dean's larger hand in his and looked up into his green eyes with one of his earliest puppy dog faces.

"Please drink the yucky stuff. For me?" The older boy melted at his brother's request. Needless to say, Dean drank the meds in record breaking speed.

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><p><strong>Okay, that's all folks! For today, at least. I'll probably add another (Happier, finally!) chapter tomorrow. As you can see, I've had some serious time on my hands :) For those reading my other story, Of Brothers and Bloody Messes, I'll attempt to update tomorrow (April 1st) but it's looking like it might be next weekend after all :( Thanks for reading!<strong>


	4. To Hell With Some Goddamn Cake

**So, this is probably the last update for the next couple of days, but don't worry, it's short and sweet! Well, more funny than sweet. You know that moment when a little kid says something they shouldn't... *Slight cussing warning ;)**

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><p><strong><em>Year 4: To Hell with Some Goddamn Cake<em>**

It was no secret John cussed. At age eight, even Dean managed to say "hell" now and then.

Right now, John really wanted to cuss. Sam was being a brat, to put it simply. All four year olds were, of course, but not all four year olds parents' were too busy hunting down a killer ghost before it scalped one more innocent citizen out of pure enjoyment to pay attention to their child.

"Cake!" Sam blurted, bouncing around on his tiny legs. "_Cake_!" He yanked on his father's jacket, but John ignored him, not glancing up at all.

"Shh..." He waved Sam away and picked up his phone.

"Caaaaake!" Sam whined as John answered, "This is Smith, FBI."

He plopped himself on the ground with an exasperated sigh. He really wanted cake. Dean said big kids ate cake at parties, but he'd never been to a party. Sure his birthday was in "a bunch'a months," as Dean had put it, but he wanted cake now.

His dad was busy talking on the phone with other grown-ups, so Sam played with a string on his shirt until John hung up. Then he took up his plea again.

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake! _Cake_!"

"We don't have any cake, Sam!" John was on his last nerve with this kid, couldn't help but think Mary would've known how to deal with this. She watched Super Nanny and all that junk, and she had good ol' motherly instinct.

"I think Sammy wants cake." Dean stated matter-of-factly, sounding somewhat amused as he traipsed in and sat on the bed.

John stood up and ruffled Sam's hair as he grabbed a beer and an Advil. "You think?" He tilted his head back and took a swig to wash down the pill.

Sam crossed his arms, completely over being ignored, pouting and frowning at the two.

"WILL _SOME_ONE GET ME SOME GODDAMN CAKE ALREADY?"

First, silence. Then, Dean couldn't hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing and John joined in, the two of them cracking up at Sam's unexpected cussing.

"Okay, okay, we'll get you some cake." John chuckled as Sam sat happily on the bed. "I need to go to the store anyway."

Maybe not the best parenting, but John had to treat the boys sometimes. "What flavor?" The hunter asked before he forgot, almost out the door. Dean looked at Sam knowingly.

"Chocolate." They answered in unison. John smiled at his boys.

"Be back in a bit. And Sam? Promise me you won't say that word again."

"I promise!" He said, but with his R troubles it sounded more like, "I pwomise," which just made John grin more as he said goodbye and locked them in the room.

Sam's small voice still rang in his ears as he started the Impala. "I promise," He'd said. Well, John thought, this seemed like a promise Sammy wouldn't be able to keep, given how often hunters got hurt on the job, but Sam was a good kid, and so far didn't seem like the kind who wouldn't keep his promise.

But then, everyone breaks a promise at some point. John could only hope the biggest problem either of his boys ever had was whether or not they had any "goddamn cake." He might even pick up a pie. He'd been craving some and Dean had never had any. Something told him the kid would love it.

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><p><strong>Pretty small chapter, but thanks for taking the time to read anyway! If you have time, tell me what you think! Thanks for all the alerts, reviews, etc. I try to reply as often as possible, so apologies if I don't get a chance. See you soon :)<strong>


	5. Chapters

**I know it's been a while, but here's the next chapter! Thanks for any reviews, alerts, and everything else. Sam's growing up! :'(**

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><p><strong><strong>_**Year 5:** Chapters_

__Five years old. Sam had been waiting for a long time to go to school. To read. To write. To make new friends. Normal friends.

John had finally allowed him to go to kindergarden, and Sam came home everyday beaming with happiness.

One day, when Dean picked Sam up from his classroom after school, he was smiling more than usual. "Dean!" He threw himself into his brother's arms as if they haven't seen each other in months.

Dean hugged his brother back as Sam burst into exciting tales of kindergarden, a shining alternative to Dean's horribly boring fourth grade class.

"And best of all?" Sam said as he skipped down the sidewalk in front of Dean, his long hair bouncing in rhythm. "Mrs. Chavers said I'm way ahead of the other kids at reading. See?" He pointed across the street at a stop sign.

"S-T-O-P. Stop!"

"Nice one, Sammy." Dean said, putting his arm around his little brother. "You're practically a first grader." But Sam wasn't finished. He could barely contain himself.

"Wanna hear the best part of all?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Tomorrow she's going to give me a real live book to take home and read! A book! With chapters and stuff! Can you believe it?"

Sam was still going on about reading when they got back to the motel, jabbering about how amazing Mrs. Chavers is. "D'ya think Dad'll wanna hear about the book?" Sam asked. He was proud of himself, and so was Dean, as always, but Sam really wanted his dad to be proud of him.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him yourself?" He said as the Impala's familiar rumble filled the parking lot.

Sam flew up, attacking John in a happy hug the second he walked through the door. "Guess what?" John and Sam both said in unison. "You go first," John decided, closing the door and saying hi to Dean.

Sam launched into his reading success story excitedly, waiting for John's congratulations. Instead, John's face fell into a frown.

"Sorry, Sam. We're leaving tomorrow. Six thirty, sharp." Sam's big eyes glistened and his mouth dropped open. Chin quivering, he turned to Dean.

"Dean?" He muttered.

"Sorry, Sammy. Rules are rules."

John sighed and made an excuse to leave.

"Dad's packing."

"Yeah, Sam."

"We're _really_ leaving?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"And we're not coming back?"

"No. No we're not."

Sam huffed and slammed the bathroom door behind him as he closed himself off from the world.

**************

Dean jumped onto Sam's bed. "Wake up! Time to go!" Sam groaned and hit Dean with a spare pillow.

"Come on! Dad's waiting!" This time Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I don't _wanna_."

"You have to. I'm not leavin' you stranded. What kinda big brother would I be?"

Sam got up just as John opened the door. His eyes were red and puffy, his face in a permanent frown.

"Put on your clothes, what're you doin', Sammy?"

Sam looked down at his pajamas. "I figured I could just go like this-"

"Into the bookstore?" Sam looked up, his eyes widening. "Don't you want to look grown-up when you buy your first chapter book?" Sam's open mouth transformed into a huge grin as he ran up to hug his dad, throwing his thin arms around his dad's torso.

"Thank you so much!" His voice was muffled as he answered, his face deep in the smell of John's leather jacket.

"You know I love you, Sammy?"

Sam nodded his head up and down.

"Love you too, Dad."

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><p><strong>Pretty short, I know, but Sam's getting older and they're getting more interesting! :) For those who follow my other story, <em>Of Brothers and Bloody Messes<em>, I'll try to update today (Sunday the 15th.) See you soon!**


	6. Stick To The Sandcastles

**I know, I know, it's been forever. Sorry guys... Either way, I'm back :) Thanks for any reviews, alerts, etc. I really appreciate it!**

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><p><strong><strong>**_Year 6: _Stick to the Sandcastles**

Dean leaned back in the lawn chair, yawning and looking up at the sky through his sunglasses. It was so relaxing on the beach. It was a school day, but they had just gotten into town, so the boys were taking a day to rest, leaving the shoreline void of most of the usual screaming children. Instead it was peaceful and relaxing...

"Dean!" He rolled his eyes beneath his shades and ignored his brother. "_Dean_!" Sam whined sadly. "Please come with me into the water!"

Dean looked down at the boy. He wasn't in the mood to be keeping track of Sam in the strong ocean currents John'd warned them about. "Thought you were making sandcastles, Sammy."

"They're _bor_ing."

Dean sighed, threw his glasses onto the chair and stood up. "Come on if you're coming." He said. Sam scrambled to his feet, sending sand flying in every direction.

Dean walked after the six-year-old racing towards the water, less than enthusiastic. He was so tired, but Sam was full of eagerness to see the ocean, and John had ordered him not to let the weak swimmer out of sight.

An order was an order.

"Come _on_, Dean!" Sam sloshed back out of the waves and took hold of the ten year old's arm, pulling him behind him.

"I'm coming." Dean grumbled. The water lapped at his feet, feeling more refreshing than he ever remembered. Dean's mouth twitched. A happy Sam, cool breeze, and great waves? What did he really have to be disgruntled about.

"Don't go too deep!" Dean called after Sam, who rolled his eyes and dog-paddled closer again. For six, he was fairly good at swimming, but he needed practice.

"Well, what sort of fun am I supposed to have without deep water?" Sam huffed, frowning.

"Plenty," Dean answered. "Tag, Marco Polo, I could show you how to float on your back?" He suggested.

"What's Marco Polio? I wanna play!"

Dean sniggered. "Polo. And I'll show you. You close your eyes, I'll swim around you quietly, and you have to find me."

"Well, if you're silent, then how'll I know where you are?"

"Every time you say 'Marco,' I have to say 'Polo.' You follow my voice."

Sam grinned, eager to start. While he counted to ten, Dean floated to Sam's left slightly, an easy target for his brother's first run. "Okay! Marco!"

"Polo," Dean replied. Sam's head swung in the direction of Dean's voice, hands groping in front of himself like a blind man.

"Marco!"

"Polo."

"Marco!" Sam's hand whacked Dean in the face. "Watch it, Velma!" Dean teased as Sam opened his eyes and smiled proudly.

"Let's see you find me!" He challenged. This wasn't so bad after all. He was actually having fun. He covered his eyes, his body swaying in the waves. "One, two, three..." He heard Sam splash to his right and smiled knowingly.

"Four, five, six..."He slowed down the count, giving Sam a little extra time.

"Seven, eight, nine..." Dean took a deep breath under his hands. The only splashing he heard was fairly far out, so Sam must be being fairly quiet. "Ten!" He called.

"Marco!" Dean waited, expectantly faced towards the direction he'd heard Sam initially. Sam didn't respond.

"Marco! Sam, you have to answer, it's the rules!" He said. Sam didn't answer again. "Marco!" He opened his eyes and twisted his head around frantically, the only sight being the tumbling waves of the Pacific Ocean.

A nearby surfer stopped. "Are you looking for someone?" He asked with a strong accent Dean couldn't place. The man looked about twenty, the slightly worried look in his eyes mirroring Dean's more frantic one.

"Yeah, my brother." His eyes scanned the coast and he swore he could see a small hand raise up a ways away.

"You know, there are some powerful currents around-"

"Sam!" Dean dove under without waiting and swam as fast as he could towards his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, his long hair wet and clinging to his pale face. Dean's arms moved faster than he ever imagined they could, powered by the sight of his little brother, his Sam, bobbing in the waves. He scooped up his brother, half swimming back towards the shore, where a crowd had drawn to watch the turn of events.

Later than Dean wished, he reached the sandy shore again, falling to his knees and laying Sam down. "Sammy..." He said as he was forced away by the lifeguard. With blurry eyes, Dean watched the lifeguard perform CPR. He clutched Sam's hand, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he felt a small squeeze back.

Sam coughed, spluttering as he sat up. "Dean?" He choked out. Dean pushed the lifeguard aside. "Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

Sam gripped Dean's hand firmly as the older boy helped him to his feet. "Do you want to go home? We should go home." Sam shrugged. He wasn't so keen on telling their dad about his outing.

"I'm going to have to tell Dad." Dean seemed to read his mind. Sam's face fell, still pale, but he shivered even after Dean wrapped a towel around him.

"We're going home." He decided. He couldn't let Sam's puppy dog eyes get to him this time. "We'll come back again, Sam, I promise, and I'll help you get better. Maybe you'll get so good, you'll save someone someday too." Neither knew that time would come over fifteen years later, the memory of this very day being the willpower Sam needed to break through the door between himself and a drowning child. "We'll come back and you can swim again, okay?" He smiled shakily.

Sam shook his head, eyes wide. "I think I'll stick with the sandcastles."

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><p><strong>Aww, Sam... I'll update soon. I mean it this time! In the meantime, feel free to review? ;) See you guys soon!<strong>


	7. She's Kind of Pudgy, Anyway

**Yes, it's really me. Back from hibernation. Sorry it's been so long and this isn't that long of a chapter, but I hope you like it anyway! Sorry I haven't been able to answer any reviews (which I'm very thankful of, as always) but I'll try to reply more this week! If I haven't said it before, anything that doesn't hold to the show's plot is purely for the sake of my story. Thanks! Enjoy:**

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><p><em><strong>Year Seven:<strong>__She's Kind of Pudgy, Anyway_

__Sam walked stiffly along the sidewalk beside his brother, answering Dean's inquiring questions with one word answers.

"How was school, Sammy?"

"Good."

"Did you learn anything?"

"Yes."

"What'd you learn?"

"Science."

Dean continued to press the kid for details, until there was no point questioning the fact that something was eating at him.

"Sam, what's the matter?" He asked, putting his hands protectively on his brother's shoulders.

Sam shook his head, eyes watery and no longer able to speak. Dean frowned and grabbed his hand, walking the rest of the way to their empty motel room in silence.

"Do you want a Yoohoo?" He asked, holding up Sam's favorite drink. Sam shook his head.

Dean sighed and sat down on the coffee table, facing his little bro. "Sam. You can tell me. What's wrong?"

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Haylee Callamine!" He blurted.

"Haylee..."

"Callamine." Sam whispered.

"What about her?"

Dean waited as patiently as possible for Sam to gather himself to speak. "Sh-Sh-she..."

"She what?"

"She _kissed_ me!"

Dean fought to hide the smile creeping onto his lips. "She did?"

"Well, no..."

"What d'you mean 'no?'"

Sam blushed and stared at the floor. "Well,_ I_ kissed _her_." Dean really smiled this time.

"What?"

"She said 'Sam Winchester, you're a big ole baby and I bet you never kissed a girl in your life!' and I said, 'Well you probably never kissed a boy either!' and she said 'We can't let people know, else they'll tease us both!'" Sam lowered his voice as if he'd done something dirty. "I said I didn't want to lie, but there was another fix. She said, 'What?' So I kissed her."

"And you're sorry because you didn't like it?" Dean put together.

Sam shook his head again. "Well, it's kinda wet, but it's fun."

Dean laughed out loud. "So what's the problem?"

"It's what Angie Devanau, Ricky Thompson, and Charles Gingham said." He leaned in close to his brother. "Dean- I kissed her for more than two seconds." He pulled back and waited as if expecting a surprised or appalled response. He got neither.

"So?" Dean finally asked.

Sam gasped. "Oh my _god_, Dean! Don't you _know_?"

"Know what?"

"Well, if a boy and a girl kiss for more than two seconds she might have babies!"

He said it with the upmost seriousness and it suddenly occurred to Dean that they'd never had The Talk. His younger brother suddenly seemed extremely naive, not to mention how guilty he looked.

"I'm only seven and a half, Dean! I'm not ready for a baby!"

"Sam-"

"Oh _God_! Does this mean we'll have to get married? _Gross_! I'll have to kiss her at the wedding and we'll have more! I guess it's not a sure thing yet, but if she starts getting fat I'll know why."

"Sam-"

"Yeah?"

"You're okay. She's not pregnant."

Sam smiled widely, but seemed skeptical. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Trust me- it takes a lot more for a girl to have babies."

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "That was going to get complicated, too."

Dean turned and sat next to him on the couch. "Why?"

"Well, Haylee's kind of pudgy, anyway," He explained simply, without the filter that age and maturity developed. "It'd take a while to notice she's pregnant."

Dean chuckled. "Glad you don't have to worry about that." He stood up and headed into the small kitchenette, seeking out a cold Coke.

"Wait, Dean?" Sam's small voice called after his quickly disappearing brother.

"Yeah?"

Sam hesitated, fiddling with the strings of his backpack. "So, what about Cooties?"

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><p><strong>Long time, no see, so I hope chapter seven was as manageable as the others! Thanks for any reviews, alerts, favorites, etcetera. I really appreciate them! See you soon!<strong>


	8. He Wouldn't Hear a Thing

**Fastest update ever! Sorry if I seem a little rushed... Ready! Set! GO!**

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><p><em><strong>Year Eight:<strong>_** He Wouldn't Hear a Thing**

"He can handle _himself_, Dean!"

"No! He _can't_! He needs me, just like he always has!" Dean stabbed an accusatory finger at John. "_You're_ never there for him and _I_ am! Who do _you_ think knows better?"

John shook his head, tight lipped. "How _dare_ you... I was out there risking my  
>life! Everyday! You think I didn't want to be there? Didn't want to watch my sons grow up? Every damn <em>day<em>, Dean!" He took in a deep breath, crossing his arms and uncrossing them as he contemplated his next words. "Ever damned day. But I can't! You know I just can't until I find Mary's killer!"

He stopped and the silence that filled the room was deafening as Dean took in what his father had said. "So don't you tell me I'm not doing anything for you two when I spend day in and day out trying to find the- the _thing_ that killed your mother!"

Dean's breathing was ragged, his fists still balled as he refused to accept his father's reasoning. "Why don't you stop sobbing over your dead family and actually acknowledge what's left of the one you still have?" He spat, turning on his heels and slamming the door to the room he shared with Sam.

Dean's entire demeanor changed the minute his eyes locked on Sam. "Hey, Sammy, it's okay, buddy." He sat cross-legged next to Sam and pulled the boy closer. Sam made eye contact, his eyes still puffy and red.

"You heard that, didn't you?" Dean stated more than asked. Sam nodded and sniffed.

"It's my fault, isn't it? This whole mess?" He squeaked.

"Oh, no!" Dean answered quickly, squeezing his shoulder. "Not in a million years!"

"It is, too! If I was popular like you this never would've happened." He looked ashamedly back at his toes.

Dean didn't say anything and neither did Sam, who sat patiently as Dean's adrenaline decreased and his breathing steadied. "Let me see it again," He ordered softly.

Sam complied, pulling up the back of his shirt to reveal a large black and blue bruise. "Is it bad?" He whispered.

Dean looked the baseball sized injury slowly, contemplating the raised bump it had formed. "No." He lied. "But you should put some ice on it to be on the safe side."

"Okay," Sam agreed instantly. He sniffed. "I just wish I could've done something..."

Dean stared at the water stain in the ceiling as he thought. It was the first time Sam had really been bullied, but it was also Dean's first fight with John.

"There was nothing you could do to change the way they thought of you because you did absolutely nothing to deserve it in the first place, got it?"

Sam nodded again. "Why were you guys fighting?" It seemed to Dean that he'd been working up the courage to ask.

"He didn't agree with, uh, well, with how I handled the situation." Dean fingered his own pink knuckles, probably nowhere near the severity of the damage he'd done to Tommy Spencer- the bully- and his friends.

Sam sniffled again and slowly rested his head on Dean'd shoulder. The older boy sighed as he leaned his head up against the wall. Tommy Spencer would never touch a hair on Sam's head again.

"You know what the worst thing he called me was?" Sam mumbled drowsily.

"What?" Dean answered softly, imagining the worst in his head, his imagination flying and his anger rising.

"He called me Sammy." Sam mumbled. At first Dean was hurt. He didn't like being called Sammy? He was contemplating speaking up about it, but Sam made the first move. "Only you're allowed to call me that, right, Dean?"

"Right, Sammy." Dean answered softly, checking the time. It was getting late and dark, but Sam had quickly fallen asleep on his arm and Dean dare not move. His stomach growled and his shoulder was tingling and most likely sore from lack of movement, but if that was where Sam's head was comfortable, he wouldn't do a thing. And if Sam tried to fit in with the populars, it wouldn't change a thing.

But if John tried to yell at him for punching Tommy Spencer, he wouldn't hear a thing.

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><p><strong>All for now, but I appreciate all the support!<strong>


	9. Nightmares

**You'll have to forget these hasty updates, short chapters, and quick thank-yous until finals are over! -_- Thanks for all the reviews, chapter alerts and favorites and everything in between! I tried to reply as much as possible! Here's a sweet chapter to help comfort your Hellatus pain!**

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><p><strong><em><span>Year Nine:<span>_****_Nightmares_**

Dean sat quietly in the overstuffed chair, his legs over the arm and propped comfortably with the remote in his hand. Dad had left to do some hustling, but not before giving them both an intense workout.

Sam was crashed on the bed, changed into PJs and sound asleep. Dean had the TV turned down low, so barely anything but the lights filled the room. Still, he couldn't sleep before he showered.

He yawned and turned off the old set, swinging his legs back over and standing up. Grabbing a towel and non-damp clothing, he opened the bathroom door enough to let himself through, the tiny crack of light illuminating his brother's face momentarily. Then it was shut softly again.

The water was warm, especially for a motel, but the pressure was low, and Dean worked fast. The shampoo was soaking in his hair when he heard the first scream.

"Sam!" He called instantly. He jumped out instantly, still wet, and listened intently. Silence. Maybe he had imagined it, he thought, pulling on underwear and considering checking.

Another bloodcurdling shriek erupted from the other room. Dean started quickly, his wet feet sliding and sending him tumbling towards the floor. "_Sam_!" He called again, trying to let the nine-year-old know he was coming, that it would all be okay.

"Sam!" He turned the knob with his wet hands and burst into the room, flipping the light switch and flooding the room with light.

Sam lay on his bed, drenched in sweat with tears running down his face, but there was no attacker in sight. In fact, the boy was still asleep.

Dean recognized the incident quickly. It had happened numerous times. Sam tossed and turned, letting out another strangled moan before Dean was able to shake him into consciousness.

"Sam!" Sam looked up with wide eyes, his chin trembling.

"_Dean_!" He cried, burying his face into Dean's chest. His shoulders shook with sobs as Dean rubbed his back and rocked slowly. He'd learned from experience that it was better to let the waterworks run their course.

Finally, Sam pulled back, his own shirt having soaked up much of the wetness from Dean's wet body. "I thought- I thought- I thought..." He couldn't bring himself to speak. "I th-thought y-you were de-ead!" He sobbed.

Sam leaned back into Dean and the crying was worse, having explained the dream. Both boys knew they couldn't live without the other, thus separation became the most common element in nightmares of any form.

"Sammy, look into my eyes." Dean ordered. Sam sniffed and looked up, his puffy eyes meeting Dean's own watery green ones. "I will _never_ leave you. Ever. You got it?"

Sam nodded slowly, still on the verge of tears. He laid back as if to go back to sleep, but his eyes remained wide open. "Sammy, you've got to sleep. You can't survive on black coffee and candy forever: your teeth will rot!" He won a wan smile. "I promise if you have another one I'll wake you up right away, deal?"

Sam smiled a little. "Deal."

Dean hugged him and was about to get up when Sam yanked on his arm. "Stay here while I fall asleep?" He whispered.

Dean softened. "Sure, Sammy." He lay back down and put his arm out to relax. Soon enough, Sam had made himself comfy on Dean's bicep, grabbing his forearm like a lifeline.

That's how John found them two hours later: Sound asleep with the lights on, Sam holding Dean's arm like a stuffed animal, and the shower still running in the bathroom, having lulled the two boys to sleep.

The elder boy's hair was sticky with shampoo, but if the pillow he was sleeping on was already ruined, then what the hell. John quietly turned off the shower and pulled the blankets up around both boys.

He flicked off the lights as Dean's eyes opened drowsily. "Dad! 'm sorry... Supposed to let you in..."

"It's okay, Dean-o, I picked the lock." John whispered. "Nightmare?" He guessed. It was easy to tell based on the circumstances.

Dean nodded. "Go back to sleep," John smiled softly. Dean complied as Sam sleepily slung his arm over Dean and pulled him closer. John chuckled and whispered good night as Dean settled in again.

Dean shifted and felt his already sore muscles pulled taught as Sam lay comfortably against him. He looked at Sam, face scrunched up in deep sleep. Dean had lost all feeling in his arm, but, he thought, his thumb rubbing his little brother's back, there were worse things to lose.

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><p><strong>Awww... So, did you guys watch the finale? Glad there's a season 8! Thanks again for all the support in this story. <strong>


	10. I Do

**Hey guys. A little overdue, but I'm finally updating! I JUST answered your reviews, and thanks for all reviews, alerts, faves, etc. I'm just going to get right to it: Here's the next chapter!**

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><p><strong><strong>**_Year Ten: _I Do**

****Dean checked the bedroom he shared with Sam one more time in hopes the boy had been hiding and decided to resurface, but it was futile.

"Sam?" He called out again. Pastor Jim was performing a wedding downstairs and the two were to be respectful and quiet so as not to interrupt. As he was about to walk out again (after checking the salt lines, of course) he noticed something he hadn't seen before.

He stooped down in the corner and picked up the cloth. It was the shirt Sam had been wearing all day. "_Sammy_!" He called. Now he was worried. Seriously worried.

No matter what Pastor Jim had said, this was important. He flew down the steps to the bottom level, out the side door and into the large chapel, organ music surrounding him like fog the instant he stepped into the room.

It was a large wedding, so Dean barely even noticed the ten-year-old sitting alone in the back row. His hair was slightly less messy and his usual jeans were coupled with his nicest shirt and an incorrectly tied tie that must belong to John.

"Sam!" Dean hissed. Sam peeled his eyes from the service as Dean joined him in the pew.

"What're you _do_ing down here?" Dean whispered. Before Sam could answer, or refuse to answer, everyone stood up and Dean followed suit, smoothing out his shirt. He didn't know the bride personally, but he knew Pastor Jim considered her a close friend.

"Does she know what you do?" Dean had asked the pastor when Sam was brushing his teeth upstairs that morning.

"No. She doesn't, actually. But I don't let that define our relationship. I am protecting her by keeping her away from my, uh, other job."

"Okay..."

"Katrina has a loving fiancé, a strong belief in God, and a beautiful future void of-"

"Vampires, murder, and demon possessions?"

"Well, yes." Jim answered. "Though the whole 'murder' thing is hopefully never a problem, death is a part of life that everyone needs to accept."

"Yeah, we just get to deal with it sooner and more violently..." Dean had muttered. Then Sam had come down and it had been so soon after they'd failed to save a werewolf victim from the last case that he shut up about killing immediately.

"...Until death do us part." Katrina spoke softly, interrupting Dean's thoughts. Sam's face was stern and solemn. Dean knew he was thinking deeply based on his expression. Squinting eyes and scrunched lips were a common sight on Sam's face, especially leaning against the couch with a notebook and a pencil doing his homework.

The bride and groom kissed and everyone except the two brothers stood to clap and cheer as the happy couple was followed outside by their friends and family.

Sam withheld his steady gaze on the wall behind him as the room slowly emptied. Even Pastor Jim failed to notice the scrawny boy with the tie and jeans and the leather-clad teen beside him as he closed the doors behind himself.

Sam sat with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands until the last celebratory noise had finally drifted away. He stared at the rose petals marking the flower girl's path down the aisle silently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean spoke up.

Sam shook his head without looking up.

"Okay," Dean nodded and put his hands on the bench to stand up.

"Do you ever think that'll be us?" Sam blurted. Dean's arms relaxed again.

"What'll be us?" He asked.

"The bride and groom. I mean, not the two of us together, but do you think we'll ever find someone to marry? Go through with it? Not watch them die?" He added, causing Dean to wince.

The older boy sighed. "Honestly, Sammy? I don't think so. This line of business just poses too many risks. I would never put anyone I loved in that risk."

Sam sat back and looked Dean in the eyes. "Doesn't Dad love us, then?"

Dean cussed under his breath. He'd painted himself into a corner. "That's different. He's doing this for us, just like we'll do 'till the day we die."

"Which at this point won't be long..." Sam muttered.

"Sam!"

"Well, you know what Dean? I'm gonna get away from here when I grow up, wherever 'here' is. Go to college, meet a girl, and settle down! Not even Dad will be able to stop me!"

"Sam-"

"Don't you wonder?" His voice was calmer, but wavering as if it took a great deal of self control. "Don't you wonder if it'll ever happen? Meet a girl worth quitting for?"

Dean sighed and made a sound, gaining Sam's eye contact. "What, Dean?"

"I-I said... Yeah, Sam, I do. But I can't. Because the job is important. But, uh, if you want to... try to have a normal life, I can't stop you. Do you want that?"

The ten-year-old licked his lips and stared at the large cross above the door. "I do." He finally answered, the same words playing in his head, but in a different scenario. "I do."

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><p><strong>See you next week!<strong>


	11. Sign My Yearbook?

**Hello everybody! Long time no see? Sorry for the extra wait, I hope you'll forgive me... Thank you for all the lovely reviews I'm about to go answer right now. Love you guys 3**

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><p><strong><strong>_**Year Eleven:**__Sign My Yearbook?_

__Sam smiled and waved when he met Stanley's eye. "Hey, man!" Stanley called back, patting the seat next to him. "Saved you a seat!"

Sam slung his bag over his chair and sat down. "Do I even _bother_ taking out my textbook?" He muttered as the bell rang and the class quieted down.

"I _would_ say no, given the circumstances, but..."

"But?"

"It is Mrs. Vance, so-"

"Winchester!" The scratchy voice of a smoker cut through the classroom. Sam froze. "Just because it's the last day of school doesn't mean we're done learning!"

Sam sighed and grabbed his textbook from his bag. For the next hour he doodled in the margin of his notebook, occasionally jotting down a couple random facts.

The average kid would look at him and think he was just anxious for summer, but that would be totally and completely incorrect. Anxious? Yes. But for what would become of him when the 4:15 bell rang that afternoon. No more homework excuses. No more school to save him from all-day every day physical and mental labor on the job.

It was a blessing when the bell saved him from his thoughts. "And leave your textbooks with me when you walk out or you can expect a bill to your house!" Mrs. Vance was screeching. "And Sam Winchester? You're wanted in the office!"

Sam let out a puff of air and Stanley gave him a look. "Dude, do you even know where that is?" Sam shook his head. He'd been here for a month and the only office visit he'd made was on his first day. With a map.

"I'll walk you. It's not far." Stanley followed him out.

"Thanks," Sam replied. "I really appreciate it." Stanley was a thin kid. Tall and dark-skinned, he was Sam's only real friend at Drewmont.

"Would you believe this is my first last day?" Sam laughed nervously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Dad always says it's not worth it and takes us out. We only stayed because he had... Some stuff to take care of."

Stanley's smile faltered. "So you're leaving."

Sam nodded, his hand on the office door. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Sign my yearbook?" Sam asked, holding it out with a sharpie.

"Sure," Stanley said. "But you should go in. I'll make sure it gets to you."

"Okay." Sam answered awkwardly. "Seeya."

"Seeya..."

Sam opened the door and stopped suddenly inside. "Dad..." John Winchester sat in a small chair opposite an administrator, speaking quietly. He barely looked up when Sam entered.

Sam sat in the corner and listened as much as he could.

"...Shouldn't be kissing... Closets... serious issue... Inappropriate and... Not to mention disrespectful!"

John whispered something and sat back, his familiar leather jacket crinkling.

"Well, Dean... Great... Sam... Lacks... Academic ambition." John nodded. "Now here... Previous grades... A look..."

Sam heard a small cough outside the door and glanced over just in time to see a sharpie come sliding under the door. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and snatched it up. Sam reached over and opened the door, seeing his yearbook on the ground, and walking out, careful to close the door gently.

He crouched down and grabbed it, opening it to see, sadly, the one lone message in Stanley's handwriting. He leaned against the wall and read:

"Sam,

We haven't known each other long, but we were pretty close. Maybe if you didn't have to leave all us losers for the Ultimate Road Trip we'd have become best buds. If we ever meet again, I'll be sure to introduce you to my ex-cheerleading bikini model wife-"

"Sam?" Sam closed his yearbook and looked up to see Dean sauntering up. "What're you doing here?"

"What're you doing here?" Sam countered. "This is the middle school side and Dad's talking about you in there!"

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "They called Dad? Damn, I'm in for it!"

"What did you do?"

"You know that really hot girl in my Spanish class?"

Sam scoffed. "No! Why would I know her?"

"Oh. Well, she has deep brown eyes, and the longest hair, and white teeth. Not to mention, some HUGE-"

"Dean!"

"F-feet."

Sam nodded with narrowed eyes. "Better."

"Well, a teacher might've caught us in the closet..."

Sam shook his head. "What did he say?"

"'Stewdents! Stewdents necking in the closet! They ah necking! Dean Winchestah! Out!'"

They both laughed. "The British guy?"

"One and only."

"At least he was fun to listen to, even if he tattled on your 'necking.'"

"No kidding. It was relaxing. 'Layke a rivah...'" They burst into laughter again.

"Dean," The administrator called to them seriously. "Sam can wait out here until your father is ready to leave."

Both boys looked crestfallen, Dean knowing he was about to be punished, Sam understanding he would never see his friend again. It was nice while it lasted, he thought.

He flipped through his yearbook until Dean and John came back out. John walked angrily ahead of them, so Sam fell in step with his brother.

"Is he mad?" Sam asked.

Dean looked down at him and winked. "Nothin' I can't handle, Sammy." He smiled and Sam returned it with his own shy grin as Dean hooked his arm around his brother's shoulder.

I may not have many friends that stick around, Sam thought. But I have Dean. He's a brother and a friend. It can't get better than that. And he's never leaving.

He paused and Dean stopped too, watching Sam dig a pen out of his backpack. "What're you doing?"

Sam bit his lip and offered the yearbook to Dean. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam gave him a toothy grin. "Sign my yearbook?"

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><p><strong>I feel bad for missing a week so how about I make it up to you now? Year Twelve coming up in a few minutes! :)Thanks for reading!<strong>


	12. How Do You Like Your Eggs?

**Just like I said! Here's chapter 12 for you! I'll let you get right to it :)**

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><p><em><strong>Year Twelve:<strong> HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?_

Sam walked into the motel room, threw down his backpack, sat at the table with a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, and didn't move for forty-five minutes.

Dean snuck up behind him quietly until his mouth was even with the twelve year old's ear. "Whatcha doin'?" He shouted. Sam startled and closed the notebook.

"What- what are you doing here, Dean?" He squeaked.

Dean gestured to the small motel room. "You know, we share this place?"

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched up his stuff. "Just leave me alone." He muttered, pushing past the sixteen year old and settling on his bed.

"Fine Mr. Cranky Pants..." Dean said, eyeing his secretive brother. He was hiding something and he never hid things- especially from Dean.

Dean edged his way to the bed and peered over Sam's shoulder just in time for the small boy to slap the book shut yet again. "Come on, Sam! Please, just tell me what you're doing?" He complained.

Sam sighed. "If you must know, I'm doing homework!"

"If it's homework then why all the confidentiality?"

Sam blushed. "Maybe it's an embarrassing assignment." He ventured. Dean shrugged. "Okay..."

He forced himself to lay calmly on the opposite bed and watch some reality program about bad celebrity makeovers until Sam felt calm enough to leave his things to go to the bathroom.

"Homework my ass," He mumbled, flipping through the pages of notes in his notebook. "Aha!" He recognized the page Sam had been writing earlier, not to mention Neat Freak wrote the date on each page.

He heard the shower start up and decided to take the chance to read it. Maybe it was for a crush. Maybe he was actually thinking of doing something bad with some kid from school. He smiled mischievously. The sideways grin turned into a softer smile as he began to read.

My Hero Poem Project:

Sam Winchester  
>April 7<p>

My hero's big but also small,  
>Sometimes scared but he'll stand tall.<p>

He's not the strongest you will find  
>But when I'm near, he's mostly kind<p>

He's no Batman and no Clark Kent  
>But he'll return something he lent<p>

'Cause he is honest through and through,  
>Has the guts to say "I love you, too."<p>

He's cared for me since I was young,  
>My brother- a hero much unsung.<p>

Dean set the paper down and looked around the room just as the shower clicked off. Sam emerged less than a minute later, surprised when Dean stood up and embraced him in a hug.

"What's this for?" He asked through a muffled voice.

"I don't know."

Sam pulled away and looked at him strangely. "Did you touch my stuff?"

"What?" He laughed. "No!" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Dean Winchester, you are a great lier in public, but a terrible one to your brother."

Dean sighed. "Okay, I read your poem."

"See, now was that so hard?" He could tell Sam was trying to contain his anger and annoyance. Maybe it was the watery look in Dean's eyes or the kooky smile he hadn't shown for years, but Sam just smiled.

"Well, just don't get all nostalgic on me, okay?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, of course." He lied. "Wouldn't dream of it." But the memories were rolling, and Dean could only wish Sam was the small, innocent, and safely guarded child he used to be.

He opened the mini fridge and grabbed the carton of eggs, like the poem was nothing. No chick-flick moments, right? He turned on the oven and blinked a few times to dry out his eyes. It felt like forever since Sam and Dad fought occasionally and not daily, since Sam's homework was less complicated than Dean's. Since Sam was just a kid.

Hunting does that to you, I guess. He thought. But it shouldn't, not to Sammy. Dean cleared his throat and put a cheap skillet on the stovetop. "Hey, Shakespeare!" He called out gruffly, masking his feelings and forcing a smirk. "How do you want your eggs?"

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><p>This thing is being weird so I'll make it fast. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Good luck with Hellatus!<p> 


	13. Aim Small Miss Small

**You guys must hate me. I know I was supposed to publish, like, eons ago, but all sorts of stuff has come up, not to mention the entire state of Florida is pretty much being attacked by mother nature, so the power keeps going out -_-. Anyway, I lurve year 14 so I'll have it up by Friday. Much overdue, year 13:**

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><p><strong>Year 13:<strong>_ Aim Small Miss Small_

"Steady..."

Sam stood as still as possible, his feet rooted to the ground and his gun and arms raised evenly.

"Breathe..."

Sam exhaled, his breath visible in the freezing New York winter.

"Go."

Sam pulled the trigger, the blast sending a shockwave through him. He stumbled back and squinted to see the target.

Dean jogged over and pointed to the edge of the last ring. Sam groaned and turned to his dad.

"Dad, I-"

"No excuses. Just try again." Sam nodded and held his arms up again. He breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Dean's ear and even he looked surprised as he ducked.

Sam's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He flung the gun to the ground like it was a bomb and stepped back. That one was close. So close.

The thirteen-year-old's mouth opened and closed, but he was speechless. Dean stood up straight and continued walking over. He touched his finger to his ear and brought it back with a smear of blood. "Its okay, just nicked it, Sammy."

Sam dared to turn and look at his father. "Dad, I..."

"Dad, it was my fault." Dean interrupted. "I shouldn't have been in the way."

John shook his head and crossed his arms. "You shouldn't have had to worry about that. You were clear out of the way. What the hell happened, Sam?"

Sam's mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Well?" John and Dean were both staring at him intensely now.

"I-I-I'm s-orr-ry..." He stuttered. "I'm so sorry..." Dean gave him a forgiving nod but John rolled his eyes.

Their duffels were already in the car. John had planned on leaving town after practice, anyway. Sam lay hunched over in the backseat, pretending like he was asleep.

"He just has his own specialties." Dean whispered.

"Yeah, research, Dean. I'm telling you, he needs to work on shooting and knives and sparring and everything in between. Right now he's as useful on a hunt as he was three years ago."

Sam heard Dean twist around to check on him and closed his eyes quickly, breathing slowly and steadily.

"That's harsh." Dean returned. "I mean, come on, Dad. He's Sammy. He reads books in his free time, and have you even seen his report cards since he joined the big leagues? Straight As, Dad. So it makes sense he'd rather research. Great! I hate it and so do you and if he's better at dealing with the boring part than the messy stuff, I say Win-Win."

A smile formed on Sam's lips. Good old Dean, sticking up for him.

"Last time I'm going to say this, Dean. He is hunting. There is no way out of it."

"He'll get hurt!" Dean protested. Sam's smile crept away.

"He'll learn from experience." John asserted firmly. "He may be a terrible shot, but we'll get that out of him."

Dean sighed and opened his mouth to respond with what would have probably been another snippy comment, but Sam was sick of it. He yawned and sat up in the backseat. The car got quiet and the conversation ended instantly.

"Where are we?" He asked.

"Almost to Maine." John replied, clearing his throat. Though the argument had stopped abruptly, Dean's glare judged him the rest of the drive.

Dean cussed as the werewolf threw John into the brick wall of the alleyway. It turned to the seventeen-year-old and snarled. Dean backed up to where Sam was standing with a shaking gun in his hand.

"Get away, Sam!" Dean snapped, not with anger but fright as the younger boy looked anxiously over at the heap that was his unmoving father.

Sam shook his head in refusal. "No way I'm leav- Dean!" He shouted as his brother was thrown completely across the alleyway. He tumbled to the ground and groaned, forcing himself to stand up before the mutt could think of tearing out his insides.

He didn't make it up in time.

"_NO_!" Sam screamed as the creature growled and landed hungrily over his brother. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the burning pain.

"HEY!" Sam bellowed suddenly, his voice cracking slightly as he raised his .45. The boom reverberated across the buildings as Sam stumbled back.

The werewolf fell to the ground face first, pinning Dean beneath it. "Dean? You okay?" Sam called.

He was answered with a grunt as Dean shoved the body aside. "Just peachy."

Sam was already rushing to John's side. "Dad?" He shook the older man gently. "Dad!" He startled as John suddenly opened his eyes and sat up as he remembered where the ache in his head had originated.

"It's okay, it's gone. We killed it."

"What he means is he killed it." Dean corrected, ruffling Sam's hair and earning himself an embarrassed glare. He held out a hand and pulled John up. "Ganked the mutt before it gave me intestines for suspenders."

"Really?" John mused.

Sam looked at his sneakers. "Always the tone of surprise."

When he looked up, John had disappeared but Dean was still grinning proudly.

"What?" He hissed.

Dean smirked and raised his eyebrows twice.

"Between the eyes." John called from his kneeling position by the dead body. "Guess I deserve an I told you so."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dad. You don't. I was off my game in New York and I should have been paying more attention."

Dean nodded approvingly and smiled at Sam. "That's great and all, Sammy, and no offense, but you've been shooting that sucky since you could walk."

Sam frowned, but shrugged. "I think I do better under pressure."

Dean rolled his eyes and hooked his arm around his brother's neck. "Only when I'm on the brink of death can I trust you to be a decent shot."

The thirteen-year-old looked up at Dean. "Sure,"

"Christo?"

Sam pulled away. "What?"

"Christo."

Sam shoved Dean playfully. "I'm not possessed! I shot that thing myself!"

"Whatever you say, bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam could feel it, just feel it. He was part of this now. Dad respected him, now. He'd saved them. He'd saved Dean. It had always been the other way around, so it only made sense that he'd returned the favor.

"Come on, Sammy!" Dean called from the Impala.

"I'm coming!" He shouted back. Sam Winchester ran to his family with a skip in his step, his head held high.

Dean turned up AC/DC and drummed on the dashboard. He turned and gave Sam a signature smile that the thirteen year old returned. He had Dean's respect and Dad's respect and that was all that mattered right now.

For once, Sam couldn't help but sing along.

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><p><strong>So sorry for the lack of answering reviews, but I really do appreciate everything. Thanks for reading! I'll update by Friday! Thanks guys!<strong>

**P.S. Kudos if you got the title. You have excellent taste in movies ;)**


	14. Sammy

**I wrote this chapter thinking about how I've read in a couple fics about Dean doing drugs, and I'm not talking about that being the plot line, but just mentioned casually. And personally, (my opinion) that is totally not Winchester acceptable. Anyway, this came to be:**

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Year Fourteen: <span>_**_Sammy_

"Dinner is served." Dean poured the cereal onto paper plates and sat down next to Sam.

"Dude," Sam looked up at him. "Where are the bowls?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He smiled when he was rewarded with an eye roll. He cleared his throat and continued. "Uh, if you want, Dad said we could go to the shooting range tonight while he's staking out at that widow botanist's house. They're having this all night shooting extravaganza thing. Sound fun?"

"I can't make it." Sam mumbled, using his left hand to push the corn flakes onto his spoon.

"What?" Dean cocked his head in disbelief.

"So is there no milk with the corn flakes because there aren't bowls or are we just out?"

"Are you changing the subject?"

"I could go grab some."

"Do you have a date?"

"No!"

"Then what could possibly be more fun than a snooza palooza at a shooting range-"

"Kate Willinthall, okay? She's having a party and I'm invited, but I'm only going because this other girl's there, Sarah?, and can you drive me? It starts at eight thirty, and Dad went with Bobby so we have the Impala, and maybe you could help me figure out what to wear, because I have never been to a party before really, and I don't know where to start even-"

"Woah, Sammy, calm down. Take a deep breath." Sam breathed in and out, his mouth in an O. "Good. Of course I'll help, anything to get you in contact with the female population. We've got an hour."

Sam nodded and swallowed. "Is that long enough?"

Dean leaned in across the table gravely, his eyes dark. Sam did the same. He licked his lips and sighed. Suddenly, he cracked a grin. "That's what she said."

Sam groaned. "_Dean_!"

**************

Dean dropped Sam off outside the two story house on Webber Street with a dismayed look.

"What?" Sam asked, his hand on the door handle.

"I was hoping for some music, crazy partygoers, anything. This looks boring. I doubt they'll even play spin the bottle."

Sam stuck his tongue out and slammed the door shut behind him. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Dean shouted as his brother walked up the nearly trimmed path.

Sam could hear the music clearly from the front door, but it was almost deafening when he got inside. The house was crowded with people, jumping up and down, making out, drinking. He felt out of place immediately.

Maybe I'll just find some place to sit, he thought. The couches were full, so he was forced to stand in the corner like a child.

"Oh my god, _Sam_!" A ball of curls came bouncing over and pulled him into a hug.

"Kate, hi!" He smiled goofily.

"I'm so glad you made it."

Sam smiled until he saw the beer can in her hand.

"Should you be drinking that?" He asked. Even he wasn't allowed to drink yet. She wave him off, the liquid sloshing dangerously.

"Why not?" She replied. She downed the can impressively, stumbling forward.

"Kate, are you _drunk_?"

"I dunno." She replied, pulling open a new can with the tab. It sprayed all over Sam.

"Kate!"

"It'll dry..." She slurred. Sam shook his head and pushed past her. He would leave now if he wasn't so keen on impressing Sarah.

A few more people spoke with him, but it wasn't the crowd Sam was used to hanging out with. Something told him Dean would have been much better at making himself look the part, though.

Sam saw a cooler and navigated through the hoards of people, but when he opened it, all he saw was beer. Another cooler stood nearby. Beer. The smells were getting to him, and Sam feared one of his migraines was on it's way.

"Lookin' for something?" Kate asked, smiling. She leaned in close, her hot breath in Sam's ear, making him flinch. "You know why I invited you, Sam? I've liked you for a while." She stopped and swigged her beer.

"You know what?" Sam replied, suddenly. "Maybe if you'd asked me nicely, and not drunk and... well, drunk, I might've thought about it. But this party is not my kind of party, you repulse me, and all I want is coke!"

The music was still blaring, but at the same time, the room was silent. Everyone was staring at the new kid with the guys to yell at the most popular girl in school.

"Dude," Some guy behind Sam spoke quietly. "Upstairs."

Sam nodded his thanks and pushed past a stunned Kate as the kids started talking again. He climbed the stairs, hoping Sarah was up here with the coke and other non alcoholic drinks. There was no way Sam was leaving without at least saying hi.

The second floor was open and well-furnished, basically empty. Sam opened the first door he saw.

"Close the door, you little pervert!"A girl shouted from inside. Sam slammed the door shut, his eyes wide. There was only one other room, besides the bathroom, and this time Sam knocked tentatively.

"What do you want?" A gruff voice asked.

"They said you had coke?"

"What's your name?"

"Sam."

There was a minute of silence when suddenly, the door swung open. "Come in." He was probably a senior, and most definitely the owner of the gruff voice, but the room was full of age groups. Sarah was not among them.

The owner of the gruff voice held up a lit cigarette-like thing. "You wanted coke, right?"

Sam looked at it for a second before it hit him. "Oh! No, no, no. I wanted Coca-Cola. Not this stuff!"

"You know what your parents always said about new foods? Don't knock it 'till you try it, Sammy."

Sam gingerly accepted the drug. He sniffed it, something Dean would know as a sure sign that the kid didn't know what to think. Mac 'N Cheese, Sam would eat all day, but hand him a plate of sushi and he'd sniff, lick, and observe with every other sense before taking a bite. That kid hated fish.

And boy, did the coke smell gross.

"Sam!" He turned and saw Dean with not an angry or I'm-Going-To-Kill-You, but one that hurt more than any bitch face he could ever receive.

Dean was disappointed.

**************

"I didn't do it, Dean! I _swear_! I wanted soda!"

"I know, Sam." Dean answered in a monotone. He stared at the road. "But you took it, you held it."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I just- I didn't know _what_ to do." Sam looked up with worried eyes.

"And what the hell happened to "Just Say No?"

"I don't know Dean! I panicked!"

"And you smell like beer!"

"I didn't _drink_ any! It was _sprayed_ on me!"

Dean sighed and banged his hand on the steering wheel. "Dammit, Sam, I believe you. I just... we should've gone to the shooting range." He gave Sam a sad smile, and received a half hearted one in return.

Sam knew Dean believed him, but it didn't change the fact that he'd held it, Dean had walked in on him holding it, surrounded by a group of junkies.

They didn't speak of it again, not to Dad and not with each other, but that was almost worse to Sam.

Because, Dean looked at him different.

They had fun, laughed, did their job, and overtime it became just a bad memory. A moment of lost trust regained almost overnight, because there was always that single person in the world that one could never hold a grudge against.

And that long drive home, there was one thing Sam wanted more than anything, and it wasn't forgiveness, or a redo. All he wanted was for Dean to call him Sammy again. It meant they were good, a truce, no fighting. It meant Dean worried about him 24/7, which wasn't as bad as Sam had thought when he was ten.

Sammy meant everything was okay.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! I appreciate all reviews, etcetera. Seriously. Thanks. I can't respond to reviews anytime soon, I won't have Internet access, but I'll try :) See you next week!<strong>


	15. Normal Sam

Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry I couldn't reply to your reviews last week, but I appreciated them all the same! Now, that's enough angst, howabout a happy Sam? Anyone?

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><p><em><strong>Year 15:<strong> __Normal Sam_

__Dean tapped his foot impatiently. It was the third time this week Sam'd been late and left him leaning against the Impala in the cold air for fifteen minutes outside the school.

Dean sighed, fed up, and decided to walk around the school and look for the kid. By the time he'd rounded the entire main building, worry had set in.

"Hey, have you seen a kid named Sam Winchester anywhere?" He asked a student walking out. The kid shrugged and shook his head without stopping.

"Did you check the gym?" A girl's voice piped up from behind him. Dean turned to see a brunette about Sam's age clutching some notebooks and a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "Are you his brother?"

"Yeah," Dean added, glancing around. "Do you know..."

"It's behind back." She smiled and pointed. "They're holding basketball and cheerleading tryouts today. Maybe he's trying to get on the team?"

Dean snorted. "More like mascot, if you ask me." He thanked her and turned back the way he had come, jumping the last five steps.

The gym was a massive brick building infamously known for the dreaded PE classes and lost games that had been held on the premises since the seventies.

He was just about to round the corner when he saw Sam walk out. Dean didn't know why (instincts, maybe?), but he quickly jumped out of view. Sam laughed as he came more into Dean's line of vision. He was flanked by another, and as he walked in Dean's direction, the companion came into view.

"Holy crap..." Dean muttered. "Sammy..."

Sam had stopped and, smiling, gave the cheerleader a hug. "Congrats on making the team, Amelia!"

Dean chuckled to himself. Sam probably had a crush on her, the poor kid. She was way out of his league and would end up just pushing Sam away. She would never know what she was missing, Dean thought. Sam always got friend zoned.

Her blonde hair fell down her back, even in a ponytail, and she laughed in surprise when Sam pulled something out of his pocket. It was a present, wrapped and all.

_Maybe they're friends_, he decided.

She opened up a jewelry box and pulled out a beautiful necklace.

_Good friends,_ he added. _Where the hell did Sam get that?_

He latched it for her and turned her around. "I'll be cheering at all the games now," She spoke.

"And I'll be cheering for you." Sam replied. He winked jokingly and she giggled. Dean looked slightly impressed.

"My brother's probably waiting for me. What time is it?"

She pulled out her phone. "Ten till five." She told him, sliding it back into the pocket of her backpack. Sam's fingers intertwined with hers as they walked towards the parking lot.

Sam stopped. "Crap. Dean'll be _pissed_!"

Got that right, Dean thought. Say goodbye to your friend and get to the car.

Amelia looked upset. "Do I ever get to meet your parents or your brother? He picks you up everyday, right?"

Sam shook his head. "You'd just fall for him and forget I exist."

"Oh, please. Im_pos_sible!"

Sam gave one of his deep hearty laughs. The kind that Dean knew were real and a select number of people, himself included, could conjure up.

Dean followed through the brush, keeping a close watch. Sam was a sensitive kid, and he hadn't mentioned any girl he was particularly close with since they got to town, so it was kind of a little stretched, but possible that he could be holding her hand in a friendly way.

They chatted about everyday things until they reached the last corner Sam would round before the Impala was in sight. At that spot, Sam stopped and turned to face her.

"Al_ready_?" She asked, her eyes displaying the disappointment that their time together was already over.

Dean began another list of excuses as to why Sam was with this girl, Amelia, in his head. He would believe any number before believing Sam actually had a girl friend.

All those possibilities flew out the window when Sam turned and placed his hands on her waist. "Already." He repeated, closing his eyes and leaning in. She did the same and their lips touched softly, with sweet and innocent first-crush love.

And then she was smiling and Sam was looking at his feet and they both talked over each other until one of them stumbled out a goodbye.

He waited until Sam was at the Impala and looking away before walking out and around as if he'd come from a different direction.

"How was school?" He asked as he put the car in reverse.

Sam blurted out a "fine" before looking back out the window.

"You okay?"

"I'm great." Sam answered. It was true, too. His eyes were happy, sparkling, and for once Dean sensed a lighter Sam, momentarily without the burden of hunting or school or research.

Sam bit his lip, but couldn't stop the grin from creeping onto his face. He averted his gaze from his brother to the window, but he could feel Dean's curious eyes on his back.

It may not have been his first kiss, but it was still a first in a way. Human to human, or so he hoped. Same-species ducky love, and for once in his life, Sam was normal.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for following this story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it! I've decided to do every year through Season 8. Thanks for all the reviews, alerts, etcetera! I really appreciate it, guys. You're the reason I continue this story. See you next week!<strong>


	16. Flagstaff

**Sorry for the late update, but I wrote this chapter every which way before finally coming to this version. I hope it's worth the wait! I've always wanted to explore Dean's side of this story.**

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><p><strong><em>Year 16:<em>**_Flagstaff_**  
><strong>

_**DEAN:** This is a good memory for you?_  
><em><strong>SAM:<strong> Yeah. I mean, I was on my own for two weeks. I lived on Funyuns and Mr. Pibb._  
><em><strong>DEAN:<strong> Wow._  
><em><strong>SAM:<strong> What?_  
><em><strong>DEAN:<strong> Well, you don't remember, do you? You ran away on my watch. I looked everywhere for you. I thought you were dead. And when Dad came home…_

**************

**DAY 13**  
><strong>06:00:<strong>  
>Dean yawned and poured another cup of coffee.<p>

"Been up long?" John asked, shuffling in and helping himself to the pot. Dean grunted a yes, gulping down the caffeine.

"So what did you find out about the DeCru guy?" John questioned, looking at the laptop over Dean's shoulder.

"Not much. The damn thing is just so slow." Dean complained, smacking the computer in the side to try to speed it up as if it was a horse.

Neither mentioned how John had given up. How he said Sam would "be fine. He'll come back eventually when he's out of money. So for now let's work a case." Neither mentioned why the computer was so slow or why it had taken extra long to hack into county records. Dean had found this rundown piece of junk at a thrift store. Mr. DaVinci Code himself had left, taken his computer, his savings, and run. _And he hadn't even stopped to think about his big brother_, Dean thought.

**DAY 1**  
><strong>16:30:<strong>  
>"I've called him, like, fifty times, Bobby. He won't answer." Dean paced with the phone in his hand. "Look- yes, please. Just- don't tell my dad? I'll tell him myself when he gets back. The idiot never brings his phone when I really need him."<p>

**16:45:**  
>"I'm close to calling 911- No, I <em>know<em> that's not a good idea, Pastor Jim, but he's only sixteen. Maybe he was kidnapped after all- Praying isn't going to do anything, dammit!" Dean paused and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry- No, Jim, I do need to apologize, even if I am stressed. Talk to you later." He hung up and sat down in the bed, running his hand through his wet hair.

He'd "borrowed" some random car from the motel parking lot and drove all across town, checking everywhere in the pouring rain for his little brother.

He hadn't even been out of Dean's sight that long. Dean had gone to the bathroom and showered. He couldn't have been more than ten minutes and when he came out, Sam had disappeared and Dean was left screaming his name in a thunderstorm like a lunatic.

**17:30:**  
>Dean dialed Jim's number again with shaking hands.<p>

"Jim. What if he is dead? No- Look- hear me out. He always answers when I call. _Always_." He added through gritted teeth. "The only time he doesn't is when he's hurt- well- but-" Dean fought to keep his voice steady.

"_No_- I _won't_ calm down- he's dead- he's dead he's dead he's dead he's- my Sammy- that's the only time he doesn't answer- for me he does! I can't wait for Dad- he'll kill me- yes, on my watch- I'll raise my voice if I want to! Sammy's _gone_! Don't tell me to calm down!" Dean was breathing quickly.

"He's not just not answering- He always answers for me- he- WELL HE DOES FOR ME!" Dean breathed raggedly. "I'm sorry, Pastor Jim. Really, I- Okay. Yeah. Call me if you hear anything. I know. Yes, he can defend himself. I promise. Okay. Bye."

**18:05:**  
>"He's my son. Yes. Will you please just turn on his GPS? I'll wait." Dean shivered, cold to the bone. He'd never changed clothes when he got back to the motel.<p>

"What do you mean the chip is gone? How- as in purposefully taken out? Okay, yes, ma'am, teenagers. Thank you, bye."

**18:15:**  
>"Caleb? It's Dean. Winchester. Hi, yeah, long time no see, look- Wait, <em>what<em>? Stop- what're you- what're you saying? Caleb! Listen to me, please, goddammit! Caleb! Son of a bitch, are you _drunk_?" Dean groaned and ended the call. "I'm done!" He shouted.

"I'M DONE, SAMMY!"

**19:00**  
>The door clicked just as Dean was about to call Bobby again to see what he'd found.<p>

"Dean? Sam? Hey, I-" John stopped, his smile fading. "Dean? Why are you all wet? Look at you!"

"Sam's gone." Dean whispered. He looked up sadly. "He won't call, I just know he's in trouble."

"Pack your things." John spoke in a monotone.

Dean lifted his duffel from the ground. "Way ahead of you."

**DAY 2**  
><strong>1:30:<strong>  
>John Winchester sat behind the wheel of his Impala, hands gripping the worn rubber white-knuckled. Dean, currently riding shotgun, was a man of twenty who had been hunting the majority of his life, so it took a lot to shake him. His father was succeeding with flying colors.<p>

Sam had gone missing last night and boy was John pissed. Dean had been on the toilet, for God's sake, and John should understand that he couldn't be blamed entirely, but it was still suspicious. The salt line was intact, the door lock not broken, no sign of an intruder.

Dean stared out the car window. His dad was practically shaking. "I swear, if he's run off without calling, he'll never hear the end of it." He forced out through gritted teeth.

There was no blood, which should have been a good sign, but it didn't help Dean. Sam's clothes were gone, all his possessions, including the knife Dean had given him to protect himself last year for Christmas.

"That boy is in for it, I swear. If he's really just run off because of that fight last week... the son of a bitch. Not even having the sense to call me and let us know he was okay and not bleeding out on some floor-"

Dean sat up and faced John. "SHUT UP!" John glanced at his eldest son in surprise.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said, shut up... _Sir_."

John pulled off the road and into the parking lot of an empty gas station. He put the car in park and turned to face Dean. "That is uncalled for."

"He's missing and you're already mad at him!" Dean ran his hand through his hair.

John sighed. "His stuff was gone, he obviously packed, Dean. I know that's so hard for you to believe, but-"

Dean took his hand down. "He could be dead!"

John rolled his eyes. "He's not dead."

"He hasn't answered our calls!"

"You really think he would answer my calls?"

Dean shook his head. "Fine, well he didn't answer my calls. That's not a good sign, Dad. He wouldn't do that. Not to _me_."

**DAY 3**  
><strong>12:47:<strong>  
>"Dean, eat."<p>

Dean shook his head and stared at the plate of pancakes John had pushed in front of him.

"Dean, you have to eat."

"'m not hungry."

"It's your favorite." John tried to be patient with his son. They had been scouring the entire state for Sam with no luck, and he doubted Dean had slept more than eight hours in the last three days.

"It's not. It's Sam's favorite."

John sighed and looked around the small diner, choosing his words carefully.

"Dean. I don't care if you don't have an appetite. You have to eat."

"Yes, sir." Dean grumbled in obedience.

And the pancakes tasted like sandpaper.

**DAY 6**  
><strong>14:22:<strong>  
>Dean was lying on the bed closest to the door, flipping through the channels without really observing what was on.<p>

He barely even registered the sound of the phone ringing until it was almost to voicemail.

"Hello?" He finally said. There was quiet on the other end, and Dean didn't know that on the other side was a well-rehearsed Sam, suddenly speechless from hearing that voice again.

"Dean, it's Sam-"

"_Sam_! Are you alright? Where are you? Okay, look for a street sign. Are you hurt, Sam?"

Sam chuckled, taking Dean by surprise. "I'm fine. I left town, Dean."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. Figured that one out. Where _are_ you?"

Sam sighed. "I'm not going to _tell_ you. You'll tell Dad, and he'll come get me. And I'm not coming back."

"Sam. Don't do this."

"I can't help it, Dean. When Dad and I are together-" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I can't fight him anymore."

"Sam-"

There was a click as the call ended.

**DAY 15**  
><strong>08:00:<strong>  
>"Bobby, I don't <em>care<em> if you think you have information on Sam, he left and he doesn't want to be found."

He paced the room with his free hand rubbing his tired eyes. John gave him a warning look, causing the young adult to lower his volume.

"We're doing fine without him- Yes, of course I miss him, but- Yeah, I'm worried, but Sam can take care of himself- Well, he's been alone for two weeks. I'm done with trying to find- What? You know what town?" John looked up from sharpening his knife. Dean sat down with a pen, searching for a piece of paper. "Jeez, Bobby, the address and everything? How'd you get this?"

Dean glanced around one more time and began writing on his hand. "Okay, thanks. Duh, we're going after him. Talk to you soon. You're the idgit... Idgit." Dean hung up and faced John.

He held up his palm.

"Flagstaff?" John read. "We can be there by tomorrow."

**Day 16**  
><strong>21:45:<strong>  
>Dean was out of the car before John could put it in park. "Dean! Wait up!" John called.<p>

Dean leaned in the window. "Don't come in. If he thinks you're pissed-"

"I _am_."

"_Right_fully so. But if you come in there full force he'll never come back willingly. Trust me, Dad, this once."

John gave in and waved him off. Dean hit the hood and walked off towards the only trailer, marked how Bobby said it would.

Sam answered on the fourth knock. "Dean..."

Dean smiled sarcastically. "Howdy, Sam. Get lost?"

"Dean..." That was all Sam could say.

"I stuck up for you, Sam. Dad pushed me to believe you'd skipped town, but I refused to believe it. I believed in you, Sammy!"

"I just had to leave Dad."

"He wasn't the only one you left." Dean whispered.

"And for that, I'm sorry."

Dean chuckled sadly and looked at his shoes. "Yeah?" He made eye contact with his brother, who was past gaining on him and now at least an inch and a half taller. "You're always sorry."

He clapped Sam on the back.

"Lucky for you I can always forgive you."

* * *

><p><strong>So what do you think? Like I said, I wrote this chapter fifteen different ways and this kind of became a mesh of all of them. I would really like to know how this one turned out especially if you have the time for a quick review. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. This age thing is going to get confusing once he starts dying...<strong>


	17. Birthday Boy

**Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews and favorites! I think I replied to all of them, so sorry if I missed you! I really appreciated all the comments on the Flagstaff chapter. I really appreciate it! Anyway, here's the next chapter!**

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><p><strong><em>Year Seventeen:<em>**_Birthday Boy_**  
><strong>

__John wasn't at the motel on May 2nd. Dean woke up first and early, realizing the Impala wasn't there, and neither was their dad.

He shook his head and read the note on the table by the door:

**_Dean- Drove to Bobby's. It's important. I'll call later. Get Sammy to school and stay out of trouble._**

"How the _hell_ am I supposed to get Sam to school without a car?" Dean grumbled. He snatched up his phone and walked outside, still sleepy, but his temper was quickly waking him up.

John answered on the second ring.

"John."

"Dad, it's Dean."

"Dean." John sighed. "I'm driving. What do you need?"

"When did you leave?"

"Like, 4:30 this morning. I didn't want to wake you guys up."

Dean sighed and leaned up against the wall. "What's at Bobby's?"

John hesitated before answering. "He has a book. He thinks it'll give us a hint about what killed your mother."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "And what is the chance it's actually useful?"

There was silence on John's end of the line. Dean started pacing again.

"Not likely. But I have to try, Dean." He finally answered.

"And when will you be back?"

"I don't know. Tonight if things go well."

Dean scoffed. "Dad, do you even _know_ what today is?"

"I dunno. The one that ends in Y. Look, Dean, I haven't really been paying attention to the calendar. I'm busy and-"

"You're _busy_?" Dean laughed. "Too busy for Sammy's birthday?"

The older hunter was quiet. Dean could hear the rush of traffic on the other side of the call.

"Is that today?"

"Yes. It is. He turned seventeen and guess who isn't here for it? Guess who's "too busy" on his goose chase?"

"Don't you take that tone-"

Dean stopped and faced the door and a sleepy Sam with wild hair watching him from under the doorframe. "Call you back."

He snapped the phone shut and smiled at Sam. "You look different..." He said.

Sam rubbed his eyes and squinted in the sun. "Dean..."

"Did you do something to your hair?"

"Dean." Sam grumbled. He yawned. "Who was on the phone?"

"A little taller maybe..."

"Dean!"

"Oh, that's right!" He walked over to Sam and beamed at him. "You're seventeen, now!" Sam couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Where's Dad?"

"That was him. He's... Busy... But he'll be home as soon as possible."

Sam shrugged, still half asleep. "M'kay." He shuffled inside, Dean clapping him on the back.

"Does the seventeen year old feel like some chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Seven_teen_, Dean. Not seven."

**************

Sam stood up as the bus came to a screeching halt and the doors swung open. Dean wiped his brow in the afternoon heat and did the same, his brother following him up the steps. Stepping past the open row on the bus, Dean let Sam slide in first by the window. The birthday boy gave him a slightly annoyed look as he sat down and hugged his backpack to his chest.

"Safety first." Dean answered at his brother's look. "I'll take the closer proximity to the creeps, thank you."

Sam rolled his eyes as he pulled out a textbook.

"Dude, can't the homework wait 'till tomorrow?"

"My birthday isn't a national holiday, Dean."

Dean sighed. "At least wait until we get home? It's too crowded on this metal piece of junk, anyway."

Sam tried to hide a smile. "I saw that!" Dean teased. "No secret smiles on birthdays!"

"Oh, is that the new rule?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "'Cause I'm the big brother and I say so."

"Oh, okay."

Dean deadpanned all the way to the motel room door, the grins never leaving either of their faces. "Come on, Sam! We'll eat in and celebrate! You can even watch MTV if you want."

Sam shook his head as he followed. "Pass."

"Come on, Sam! I thought you loved Madonna!"

Dean opened the door, the toothy expression still plastered on his face as he took in the sight. John sat, staring at a TV without watching. Empty beer bottles surrounded him and Dean could see him visually twitch as Sam sarcastically crooned "Frozen", his voice getting closer as he neared the door.

"How's the goose taste, Dad?" Dean raised his eyebrows. It was obvious the book was worth nothing. The entire trip useless. He snatched up the keys to the Impala and tossed a ball of paper at the older man. "I've already bought him presents one through three, seven and ten. Take your pick and I suggest you call a cab," He added, gesturing towards the assorted empty liquor containers.

He smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and turned to face Sam right as the boy reached the door.

"Dean, where are you-"

Dean turned him around towards the parking lot. He slung his arm around Sam's shoulder. "You know, I just remembered that Denny's gives you free ice cream on your birthday. Can't pass that up, can we?"

He kicked the door shut behind him and ignored Sam's questions as he ducked into the car.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" The key was in the ignition, Dean's hand poised to turn it and hear the familiar grumble of the engine.

"Can I drive?"

Dean laughed, the 'no' halfway out his mouth when he stopped himself. "Sure, Sammy." He answered thoughtfully. "Yeah, you sure can."

They switched spots and Sam's hand turned the key and brought the old car to life. "Thanks, Dean. Really."

"You haven't even seen the presents yet." Dean replied, grinning.

"No weapons?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "No weapons."

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><p><strong>That seemed short to me, so sorry about that. Anyway, Sam's already seventeen! they grow up so fast... See you guys next week!<strong>


	18. He Regrets To Inform You

**Hey guys! Not much to say other than many thanks to reviewers, favoriters, followers, and if anyone saw this story when I updated today and said, "What the heck, I'll try it..." Welcome! And I'm sorry you're caught up ;)**

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><p><em><em>___**Year Eighteen:**_**_He Regrets to Inform You..._**

Sam stopped by the family's most frequented Dropbox, in South Dakota, just like Dad had asked him to. He casually flipped through the stack of envelopes as he walked towards the car, stopping dead in his tracks as he held up one with a return address to Stanford in the corner.

"Hurry up, slowpoke!" Dean called from the Impala. Sam ignored him. It felt kind of fat, but he didn't know for sure. He glanced up at Dean, who was watching him with an impatient expression. Sam crossed the street and Dean, satisfied that his younger brother was coming, looked away just long enough for Sam to stuff the letter in his jacket pocket.

"Hey," Dean said as Sam climbed in. "Here." Sam handed the stack to Dean. "I got them all, and I asked at the front desk for any packages, okay? _Just_ like Dad asked."

Dean nodded. "I don't know why he couldn't do it him_self_..." Sam muttered.

Dean sighed and hit the steering wheel. "Come on, man, don't do this again."

"Do what?" Sam asked innocently.

"_This_! The guy's not even in the car an you're upset with him! Please?" Sam couldn't stay angry long anyway, the way his nerves were chewing him out.

"Worried? Almost late for a meeting, Sammy?" Dean cocked one eyebrow and looked from Sam to his bouncing leg.

"What? No. I just have to go to the bathroom." He lied.

"Well, hold it in, 'cause Dad wants us back as soon as possible." Sam rolled his eyes. _Dad wants this, Dad wants that_. It was never what Sam wanted, or even what Dean wanted, though his older brother was much more obedient. No wonder he'd kept the whole Stanford idea to himself. He'd applied to other colleges, too, but this was the one. The one he'd hoped and prayed he'd be admitted to.

He could feel it in his pocket when he moved, taunting him, but with Dean in the car he couldn't open it yet. This could be his escape, his Hogwarts away from the Dursleys.

"He really did have to go..." Dean muttered when he hadn't even pulled the key out of the ignition and Sam was already closing the motel room door behind himself.

He locked himself in the bathroom, turned on the water, and ripped open the envelope.

"Sam Winchester," He read under his breath. "It is our honor to congratulate you on your acceptance to Stanford University..." Sam smiled. He'd made it. He'd actually made it. And after all the moving around and teasing from Dean about what a geek he was...

He read the rest carefully, all the information he would need. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He was getting out and getting the education he'd always wanted. His dream was coming true.

"Sam!" Dean banged on the door. "Going number three in there? What's taking you so long?"

Sam's smile turned into a frown. After all these years only one more obstacle stood between him and college. He had to tell them.

Sam opened the door and faced Dean. "What's in your hand?" Dean asked confusedly, looking from Sam to the torn open letter in his hand. Sam groaned, what the hell was he thinking not hiding it first? It flew behind his back, but it was too late.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm..." Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked at Dean. "I'm going to college."

Dean's mouth opened slightly and he cocked his head. He gently grabbed Sam's arm and pulled it forward, taking the envelope for himself.

"Sam Winchester, It is our honor to congratulate..." He looked up. "_Stan_ford?"

Sam nodded.

"Uni_versity_?"

Sam nodded again.

"In Cali_fornia_?"

"Yes, Dean. And-"

Dean held up the papers. "When did you have time to ap_ply_ to-"

"Whenever I had a chance." He reached his hand out and took the acceptance letter back. He didn't know whether Dean was happy or upset, and for once, he couldn't read his brother's expression.

"Dean, I want to-" He stopped mid sentence as the door opened. Dean's hand hovered over the gun in the back of his jeans, but relaxed when his father entered.

"Did you start the research yet?" John asked obliviously. "Because I... What's that?" Sam was clutching the envelope tightly and Dean was staring at it like it was a bomb.

Sam shrugged. "Just a letter." Dean scoffed.

"What's so funny Dean?" John raised his eyebrows at his oldest.

"Just a letter my ass." Dean pried the papers from Sam's fingers and handed them to the older hunter.

"You're joking." John looked up at Sam, the inkling of a smile on his face. "This is a joke. You weren't seriously considering leaving, right?"

"I can leave if I want to." Sam said quietly.

"What?"

"I can leave if I want to." Sam repeated, louder and confidently. "You can't hold me here against my will."

"I'm your _father_! If I say you're not abandoning this family, then you aren't!"

Sam's face was reddening in anger. "I'm eighteen! I'm an adult, and this is my life, not yours!"

"You have a dedication to this family, Sam! You want to just walk out on me? On _Dean_? What about Mary? How would she feel?"

Dean stepped between them, one hand on each man's chest. He always knew Dad was losing his temper when he called her Mary in front of his boys. "Calm down, guys. Okay?" John gave him a warning look, but Dean met him eye to eye.

"Don't you drag Mom into this!" Sam poked a finger at his father. "How should I know what she would think if she died when I was a baby? And you _never_ talk about her!"

"Take it _easy_, Sammy." Dean spoke without taking his eyes off his father. "We'll settle this like adults."

"Maybe if Sam wanted to _act_ like an adult," John threw out.

"Dad!"

John pushed Dean aside. "If you want to leave this family? Fine, _leave_!"

"I _will_!" Sam shouted. He shoved his few belongings into his duffel and zipped it up angrily. "Gladly!"He hit shoulders with his father before pushing past Dean.

"SAM!" John yelled. Sam stopped right on the threshold. "You walk out that door, you don't ever come back, you hear?"

Sam swallowed. "Loud and clear, Dad." He slammed the door behind himself with a sense of finality.

"Wait, _Sam_!" The door was open again and Dean stood there with a desperate look on his face. "How are you going to get there?"

"Hitchhike!" Sam answered. He sighed. "You understand, right Dean?"

The older brother froze, pulled into a match that was supposed to be between his brother and father. "Don't start with me, Sam-"

"So you're on Dad's side?" Sam looked genuinely hurt, breathing heavily from the screaming match he'd just had with his father. "Figures, considering you got me into Stanford in the first place."

"What?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow. Sam's eyes darted from Dean to the closed door and back to his brother.

"Yeah, the essay prompt. A picture and it's importance. Do you remember that time in the mountains?"

"Black Rock..." Dean mumbled, lost in memories.

"And I said, 'What's Daddy doing all the time?' and you said- you said, 'He's saving the world, Sammy.'"

Dean nodded, looking at the ground and biting his lip.

"Well... I don't need to save the world, Dean. I don't. _You_ do, and _Dad_ does. It's what you were made to to, but Dean?" He paused until his older brother met his gaze. "I wasn't meant to save the world. I need to start a little smaller. I'm not right for this job. For hunting. Dean... I'm sorry... But right now, I just need to save myself."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy, okay."

Sam walked up and hugged his brother tightly. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean just shook his head. Sam caught up with a man packing up his car and waved awkwardly to Dean. Dean nodded goodbye as Sam hitched a ride.

"Sam!" Sam turned with his hand on the open door to the Volkswagen. "We'll keep in touch, yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam shouted back. He ducked into the car and tucked the duffel against himself.

They wouldn't talk again for over two years.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, as always! See you guys next week!<strong>


	19. Of Santa Cookies and Hidden Brothers

**Just so you know how tired (or idiotic, but let's go with tired) I am, I uploaded the chapter yesterday... And completely forgot to actually add it to the story. But alas, here it finally is. As always, thanks for all your wonderful reviews, favorites, and alerts. They keep me going! **

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><p><strong><em>Year Nineteen:<em>**_Of Santa Cookies and Hidden Brothers_

"Hey! SAM!" Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath to control his temper as his roommate entered their dorm room. He'd hoped to get at least thirty minutes of peace before Spencer got back.

The guy was a maniac. And he never left Sam alone. The nineteen year old found himself spending more time in his friend Brady's room than his own.

"_SAM_! Sammy, Sammy, Sam-o!" Sam gave a feeble wave as Chuck slammed the door. "Come on, dude! You're coming to the Christmas party tonight, right?"

"I've got some work to do. I don't think I can make it-"

Spencer snatched Sam's book and closed it roughly. "Work? It's the last day before break! Sammy, Sam-a-roo! Come on! There'll be hot girls there!"

Sam shook his head. His memories of Christmas had never been that thrilling. Dad wasn't even usually home and when he was he was usually too drunk to acknowledge the holiday.

"Don't call me Sammy." He heard himself reply coldly.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because-"_ Because only Dean could call me that._"Because I don't like nicknames."

"Whatever, Sam. It's at The Clink at nine. You should come." He threw the book back and grabbed his car keys. "I'll give you a lift!"

The door closed behind him and Sam, annoyed, flipped back to his page, but he couldn't concentrate. Maybe he should go. He'd never been to a real Christmas party before. Sam just had to hope it would be worth the drive up with Spencer.

He was on his third plate of Santa cookies and chips and it was only ten. Sam had hoped to see his friends here, but most of them had left for home early, so here he was: sitting all alone on a couch in the corner.

Every now and then a desperate and most likely hammered girl would come flirt with him but promptly give up when he offered them absolutely nothing in return.

"So, my friends were wondering what you were doing in the corner? Timeout?" Sam looked up as a blonde sat next to him.

Sam forced a smile. "Look, I'm not into doing anything like that right now, okay? So go bother someone else and don't drive home. You really don't want a DUI."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Sorry, you just looked lonely. I only wanted to talk." She made to get up. "Besides, I have a boyfriend."

"Wait!" Sam wasn't so keen to push away the first person nice enough to strike up a conversation. "I'm sorry, it's just- you're the first sober person to speak to me tonight."

She leaned back again and shrugged. "It's no big deal. This isn't really my kind of party. My friend Jess dragged me here, though she doesn't seem to be having a ball either... My name is Becky. Well, Rebecca, but everybody calls me Becky."

"Becky. That's a nice name." Sam replied. "I, uh, don't really know what I'm doing here, either. I'm-"

"Sam." Becky finished for him. "We have a mutual friend. Brady?" Sam nodded.

"So why aren't you at home with your family, Sam?" She asked.

Sam looked away and down at the plate in his hand and the cookie he was playing with absentmindedly with his fingers.

_Because they don't want me. And I don't want them_, he forced himself to add. _Even Dean hasn't spoken to me since that night. He probably doesn't even care._

It was hard to be cut off from Dean so suddenly. Dad, he honestly couldn't care about less right now, because the stubborn fool had never cared about anything but the hunt. But Dean. Dean was different.

The first night in that motel room when he woke up without hearing Dean breathing beside him it had taken his sleepy brain a minute to realize his big brother wasn't hurt or stolen or dead. He was never there in the first place. He was gone and Sam was alone.

"...Sam?" She put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped at the touch, shocking him back into the now. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just... Not that close with my family."

She looked sorry for him but her hand didn't move and he didn't make her. "So... Where are you spending Christmas?" He shrugged.

"I'll find somewhere. A motel or something."

Her mouth opened. "A motel? Break is like a month and a half!" He just shrugged.

"How will you pay for it?"

"I've still got my job. I'll work over the break. They always need someone to work on Christmas. But why am I telling _you_this?" He just told a girl he barely knew more about his college life than anyone else.

She smiled another show of her straight white teeth. "I just have one of those faces, I guess."

Sam smiled back, but his gaze moved from Becky to behind her. A crash sounded as a drunk Spencer fell into a waitress- though whether on purpose or accident, Sam wasn't sure.

Spencer turned and puked, swaying and grabbing another shot as his idiot friends chanted and cheered him on. Sam groaned and rolled his eyes.

"It was nice talking to you Becky, but he's my roommate," Sam gestured towards Spencer. "And my ride home. It appears I'll be doing the driving."

He stood up and made his way to the bar. "Spencer." He called, but the guy didn't even turn around. Sam tried again to shout over the music. "_Spencer_!"

This time he turned and waved at Sam. "Oh, hey, Jumbo! Whatcha doin'?"

"Taking you home!" Sam replied. He grabbed Spencer's arm and dragged him towards the door.

They exited into the winter air and Sam tightened the hold on his jacket with his free hand, wishing he'd taken the time to put it on before snatching Spencer. "Wh... Wait..." Spencer babbled. Sam jerked to a halt.

"What!"

"I have to use the bathr'm..." He slurred. Sam shoved him back towards the door. "Hurry up, Spencer!" He certainly didn't want the drunk to throw up on him.

He sat down against the wall, utterly exhausted with a splitting headache. Socializing, bad idea. He thought. Except for Becky. She was nice.

He leaned his head against the concrete wall, the music inside nothing more than a faint thumping out here. It didn't take long for his tired body to fall asleep in wait.

His hunter skills were already going a little rusty, as he'd comfortably (Or as comfortably as possible outside a bar in the winter) fallen asleep without knowing a man was watching him from across the street.

"Yeah, I see him. He just ushered out some guy and then pushed him back in. Yeah. Guy was wasted. Roommate? Friend? Dunno. I'll call you in a bit, Dad." Dean hung up and sighed as Sam's breath clouded in the cold air, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open.

Dad had told him if he was going to insist on keeping an eye on his brother he'd have to remain unseen. No way, he was going to ruin Sam's whole "normal life" he'd wanted so bad by stopping by and saying hey anyway. Hush, hush, and all that.

Dean leaned back against the tree and pulled his own coat up and closer. Dad said it wasn't that cold in Palo Alto, but apparently this cold front had other ideas.

Which made it even harder to not run up to Sam and drive him home, the way the boy was shivering. Sam didn't look as different as Dean thought he would, still the same little brother he'd looked after all these years.

Whoever that drunk was, Spencer, he made Dean wonder if the college life was living up to Sam's expectations. Sure, hot chicks and college raves were the first things that crossed Dean's mind but Sam had come for an education, the geek.

Dean sighed, checking his phone. Spencer was probably passed out inside and Sam was stuck out here in the Antarctic waiting.

Eventually, Big Brother outweighed anything his father could have told him and Dean quietly crossed the road and knelt beside his brother. He slowly lifted Sam's arm, freezing when the nineteen year old pulled it in to his chest, his jacket falling freely into Dean's outstretched hand.

Without a word, he laid it across Sam like a blanket, hoping it would keep in at least a little warmth until Spencer returned.

It wasn't much, but it was the most Dean could do right now, and even that small act of kindness had reminded him of how it used to be, Dean tucking him into bed every night, pulling the covers up, and making sure he was warm.

And Dean could only hope, as he drifted back into the darkness of the foliage again, that one day Sam would want to be with Dean as much as Dean needed to be with him.

A group of girls came out and a couple stopped next to Sam. Dean kept his hand on his knife, even if it seemed a little overprotective.

One girl knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. Sam's eyes snapped open. "Becky?"

"Need a ride?" She asked. Sam opened his mouth to argue that he should wait for Spencer.

"Spencer's dropped dead in there." Sam tensed before realizing it was just a figure of speech. Dean relaxed slightly too as his brother recognized one of the women.

"Come on. He'll find a ride." She held out her hand and Sam wadded his coat up and took it, not even stopping to wonder how it got there in the first place.

"Thanks, Becky."

"Anytime."

He walked off with them, sliding his arms through his jacket as they turned the corner. Dean swallowed hard. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be, making sure Sammy was okay.

He didn't want to admit it. It sounded bad. But, to someone who had grown up taking care of the kid... Well, in Dean's eyes, Sam was _too_okay without his big brother. Too normal, too happy, too comfortable living life without his other half.

And that was something Dean never thought he'd witness.

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><p><strong>That's all for this week, folks. All reviews are greatly appreciated, of course. See you guys next week!<strong>


	20. And Straight On 'Till Morning

**Hello everybody! Thank you for all the great reviews, as usual! I hope I managed to reply to them all, though I kind of lost track of which I'd already answered, so my apologies if I didn't get to you... Hope you guys like this chapter!**

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><p><em><strong><span>Year Twenty: <span>**__And Straight On 'Till Morning_

Sam followed his friends and their dates into the loud bar, instantly noticing how much it wasn't his taste or the kind of place he'd go to hang out.

"Come on, Sam!" His friend, Brady, called to him, his latest girlfriend hanging on him like a leech.

Sam walked towards his friends and sat down, but the situation soon turned awkward as Brady began kissing his girlfriend. Sam hadn't agreed to come to be third wheeled. He'd finally had enough when they began cooing and sweet talking, getting up easily without them noticing and finding a spot at the bar.

"Be right back," He heard Brady say. Maybe he hadn't been as subtle as he thought. Sam ordered a glass of water, tapping his foot impatiently. He was almost twenty-one, but had put all prospects of his past life behind him, which included fake , and, subsequently, drinking.

"Come _on_, dude!" Brady clapped him on the back and Sam jumped slightly. "Can't you have _fun_? What? Want me to buy you a drink? I wouldn't tell anyone you were underage drinking."

"No." Sam said, staring down at the condensation on his water glass.

"Wanna meet a girl? _She_ goes to Stanford." He gestured towards a pretty girl sitting alone a few seats down. "How's it goin', Vanessa?"

She gave him a cold stare. "It's _Jes_sica."

"That's what I meant," He said, winking at her before turning back to Sam. "Don't leave me hangin' Sam."

"No, Brady, I'm not going-"

"Bray-boo!" Brady girlfriend called. She blew him a kiss and he returned it, rolling his eyes when she looked away. "Suit yourself," Brady shrugged, walking back towards his girl.

Sam swirled the ice in his drink and thought about catching a bus so he didn't have to wait for Brady to drive him back to the dorm.

"Hey, Sam, right?" Sam looked up to see the girl named Jessica had come closer. "Sorry, you don't have change, do you?" She had a small change purse out and was rifling through it.

"Oh, sure." Sam dug in his pocket and came up with a few coins. "How much do you need?" She really was pretty. Blonde hair, sparkling eyes, and a pretty smile when she wasn't scowling at Brady. She plucked a few pennies and handed them to the outstretched hand of the bartender.

"You know, I don't blame you for being annoyed by Brady." Sam told her. "He can be a jerk."

Jessica laughed. "Yeah, well, it's not the first time I've seen him try to set one of his poor friends up with some random bar chick."

Now it was Sam's turn to chuckle. "Are you calling yourself a random bar chick?"

"No!" She laughed. "I don't even drink! What kind of example would that be?"

"To who?"

"My little cousins, I guess. They're like siblings to me. What about you. Do you have siblings?"

Sam shrugged, avoiding the question and earning a quirk of the head from pretty Jessica. "So... do they do normal kid stuff when you're with them?" Sam thought to all the things he'd heard the other children talk about at school when he was younger, always eavesdropping with envy. "Like, video games and stuff?"

She laughed. "No! Are you kidding? I've practically _raised_ those kids. They'd rather watch Peter _Pan _than play some stupid game that'll kill brain cells."

"Peter Pan?" Sam said skeptically.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with fairytales." She replied indignantly. "My dad used to read them to me all the time. It was kind of our thing."

"My dad wasn't like that at all." Sam replied. Jessica scooted one more seat down so she was next to him and ordered two lemonades. The bartender gave her a curious look as he dug for the drinks.

"Well, I think Peter Pan is amazing. A boy who never grows up, but by doing so and living in Neverland, takes on the responsibilities of a man..."

Sam looked impressed. "I'd never really thought about it before." In his head, he saw Dean chiding him. "_Come on, Sam!_" Dean teased. "_You meet a cute girl and the first thing you talk about is fairytales?_" Sam would show him. All those "childish stories" he'd read as a kid would come in handy.

He happened to glance from Jessica to the table Brady had been sitting at. The couple was getting up, grabbing jackets, making their way to the door. Sam realized they were his only ride home.

"I have to go," Sam said reluctantly. It looked like this wasn't going to happen after all. She seemed nice, too, someone he'd really have a chance with. The first girl to catch his eye since he'd left home, hell, since Amy Pond. She wasn't like a few of the girls he'd dated since. They could've been something, truly. Jessica looked upset as he stood up, and Sam couldn't help but think the same thing was running through her mind.

"Wait!" She stood up, too, looking up at his tall figure. "I... Need your number." Sam smiled and raised his eyebrows. "So I can pay you back." She explained, and he followed her gaze to his pile of change, which he scooped up. "Sure..." He teased.

He pulled out a pen and looked for a paper, but she held out her wrist. Sam scrawled his number down. "Thanks, Sam." She held up her wrist. "For tolerating my Peter Pan whim. And for your number. Otherwise, we might never see each other again!" She whispered it cheerfully, but there was a hint of worry as she said it, her wide eyes blue as Wendy Darling's nightgown.

This was Sam's chance. After all, what's more romantic than fairytales? "Never," He quoted Peter, picturing the young boy whispering the same words in Wendy's ears, Jessica leaning in as she closed her eyes. "Is an _aw_fully long time." Their lips met and he kissed her smoothly. If anyone could pull off a polite kiss, it was Sam. Always the gentleman, Dean would say.

They pulled away all too soon and Brady was giving him a cheesy thumbs up from the front door. "Call me," Sam said, sounding sweet but chiding himself in his head for coming off so cliche. Jessica stood there, cradling her written-on wrist in her other hand, mouth open and eyes wide in surprise. "I mean it, Jessica."

She bit her lip and smiled. "Call me Jess."

"Jess," Sam repeated. She was still standing there smiling at him as the bar door closed behind him. It had been so long since he'd met a girl, and even longer since he's managed to make such a great impression.

Dean would've been impressed. The last time Sam had seen a girl so swept off her feet was opposite a charming, smooth-talking Dean. _Well played, Sam_, Dean approved in his head. _You pulled off the fairytales_. Though they'd only just met, Sam saw something special in her, and his own conscience spoke louder and clearer than Fake-Dean. _That girl_, it said. _That girl is a keeper._


	21. Taking Her Hand

**Sorry for the overdose on sweet sadness here, guys. But I appreciated all reviews, whihooooope fully I manage to reply too... And as always, alerts and favorites as well!**

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><p><em><strong><span>Year Twenty-One:<span>**_ _Taking Her Hand_

_Years later he'd still think about it... How much he'd disappointed- more than disappointed, devastated- the Moores. They never called again after the fire, and quite frankly, Sam neither blamed them nor thought he could handle speaking with Jessica's parents._

_He'd never told Dean about the week before the fire. It would just add to the guilt. Dean asked, had asked, until Sam blew up in emotions and didn't talk much for a couple days. _

_Didn't trust his voice. _

**ONE WEEK PREVIOUS TO DEAN'S ARRIVAL AT STANFORD**

Sam walked into the store apprehensively, the bell tinkling amiably behind him. And he immediately felt underdressed.

"Welcome, Sir!" A woman in a formal dress greeted him. Her name tag read "Allison" and Sam nodded with a smile. She seemed to look him over, eyeing his Stanford hoodie and jeans. "How can I help you today?" She finally asked.

Sam looked behind her at the glass cases. "I'm looking for a ring." He answered nervously. She winked. "You've come to the right place. We _are_ a ring shop!"

She beckoned him forward and stepped behind the glass. "Engagement ring?" It was the first time Sam had heard those words out loud and directed towards him and he gulped before supplying a shaky yes.

"We've been dating for almost two years." Sam choked out. Was it hot in here?

The woman, Allison, ran her hand over the cases before stopping and pulling one out. She rested her elbows on the desk and held it for Sam to see.

"This is an engagement and wedding band set, complete with your diamond of choice among sixteen round diamonds." Sam raised his eyebrows. "Wow. H-_how_ much?"

She handed him the price tag. Sam whistled. "Dear God, please tell me that's a telephone number." He muttered. She chuckled. "Not on budget?"

Sam shook his head firmly. She nodded in thought and moved down the table, her fingers once again coasting over the countertop in search of the perfect one.

"How about this one?" She suggested. "Humble but elegant." She held up a silver band with a large diamond in the center. Sam took it gently from her hand

"This is the engraved micropavé engagement ring with a heart stone, but you can have it custom made with other stones, including the asscher and marquise diamonds. And reasonably priced at just over sixteen hundred."

She looked up at him expectantly. Sam just shrugged. "I have no idea what to think or... I've never done this before."

"Well that's a good thing, isn't it?" She offered. Sam smiled. "I'm going to look around elsewhere. I'll be back."

Becky sat down on the couch and pulled the blanket up over her legs, throwing the end over her feet. "Hurry up, Jess!" She called into the kitchen. "I'm going to start without you!"

Jessica Moore popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth and plopped down next to her friend. The Sixth Sense title sequence played. "Hey! I said no to scary movies! Rom-coms, yes. Dramas, sure. Horror? Never. My TV, my rules!" Becky just shrugged mischievously and Jess rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

She was about to say something when Becky's cell rang. "Who is it?"

She pulled it out and checked the caller I.D. "It's Sam."

"Sam?" Jessica asked, grabbing the popcorn bowl back from her friend. "He knew we were having a girl's night. Why didn't he call the apartment number?"

Becky shrugged and answered. "Hey, Sam!"

"Becky. Is Jess there? Weren't you guys watching movies or something? This is more important. It's about... The ring..." Becky turned and winked at Jess.

"I'm alone. Jess went to... The bathroom. So, the ring?" She opened her mouth in surprise at her friend, who mouthed, _"I knew it!_" with a happy crinkle on the corner of her eyes.

"Yeah. I've found a few I think she'd like but I need your opinion."

"Okay. Watcha got?"

Sam stood in a slightly stuffy antique shop, two printed out pictures of rings, the third in his hand as the shop owner looked on.

"The first has a silver band, plain, with a decent sized diamond in the middle-"

"Okay, simple band, decent diamond..." Becky repeated, much to Jessica's delight. But the girl shook her head.

"Yeah, not so crazy about that one." She reported.

"That's okay. Good to know. The second has one large diamond called an ass-something-" Becky stifled a laugh. "With two smaller diamonds on the side."

Becky made eye contact with Jessica. "One large, two smaller? Sounds kind of blingy." She suggested, both to Sam and Jess. Jess tilted her hand in a maybe.

"It's a possibility."

Sam nodded. "That's fine." He held up the third one in his hand, studying it closely. "This one's vintage. A few humble diamonds twisted into a silver band. Decently priced. Pretty old." He added, nodding in thanks at the older woman at the front desk.

"Vintage with a few diamonds twisted into the ring? Antique, huh." Jessica pulled the blanket up and nodded vigorously. "That one sounds perfect!" Becky replied.

"Hey, why are you repeating everything?" Sam asked.

"Oh! Jess is coming out of the bathroom! Gotta go!" Becky diverted the question, snapping the phone shut before both girls erupted into happy giggles.

"Can I package that up for you?" The woman asked Sam as he placed the ring back in it's box.

"Uh, no. I don't have the money yet. I'll be back for it, though. Could you hold it?"

"Of course." She smiled and waved as Sam left. Light was dimming outside, and Sam took a look at his watch. "Crap!" This wasn't the kind of meeting to be late to.

So many thoughts were crossing his mind, it was overwhelming. The biggest being whether he would invite Dean to the wedding. Or Dad for that matter. Did they _deserve_ it?

_Yeah_. He decided. _They do._ He knew Dean would care. No matter what, even if they hadn't spoken in almost two years. It always came back to the instant trust they had in each other. And Sam could already imagine that proud smile he remembered so vividly, shining on his brother's face. The Best Man himself, proud older brother, uncomfortable in of course, but still going through with it for his brother's sake.

And Dad? He could come. He could come and see Sam prove him wrong. Show him that he can have an average life. He _does_. He has a beautiful wife and a job and a home. He has normalcy.

But he was getting ahead of himself. There were still a couple yes's to go... Sam shrugged on the nice jacket just as the door opened, finishing the slightly more formal look he'd changed into quickly on the way. He smiled politely. "I hope I'm not late."

"Not at all, Sam. It's good to see you."

"You too, Mr. Moore." The older man stuck out a hand which Sam took, both equally impressed by the other's strong grip.

"I won't take much of your time, Sir." Sam said politely as he entered Jessica's childhood home. He would have driven all night to ask in person if he had to, but the Moores lived just outside Palo Alto.

"Oh, hello, Sam!" Mrs. Moore entered, bright and smiling as usual with a tray of cheese and crackers. "I thought Jess would be with you?"

"Um, no ma'am. It's important that it was just me this time." She cocked her head, placed the platter on the coffee table, and shrugged. "Okay, dear. I'm in the kitchen, so just holler if you need more food!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Moore, but, actually, if you wouldn't mind, I have something to say that you both might want to hear."

She nodded and shared a glance with her husband, taking a seat beside him.

"Mr. Moore. Mrs. Moore. You know how I feel about your daughter. Jessica is the world to me. Without her, I would crash and burn, and I can safely say she feels the same. I could use a thousand analogies to describe our relationship, each more cliche than the last-" Mr. Moore smiled and Sam relaxed slightly. "But nothing could describe what we've become. We're more than boyfriend and girlfriend. We're best friends.

"And we've met and talked so many times, I feel almost as if you're the parents I never really had. I hope you've seen enough of us together to understand that I would do anything for Jess. She will always be safe with me. I promise to protect her from harm, to take care of her for the rest of our lives."

Sam was surprised to see how emotional Jessica's mother had become. She gave a hint of a smile and nodded for Sam to continue.

"Mr. and Mrs. Moore, I love your daughter. This is the best way to prove that to her and to you. I'd... I'd like to ask your permission to take her hand in marriage."

The man sat back, running a finger along his chin. He and his wife exchanged knowing glances, and when they looked back and smiled, Sam couldn't help but smile himself.

Jess' mom embraced him once they reached the door.

"Sam," She whispered in his ear as they hugged. "I'm glad she chose you."

"Me too." Sam replied.

"Take care of my baby girl!" Mr. Moore took his hand firmly and they shook.

"You don't have to tell me twice, Sir. Jessica is everything to me." Sam replied. "You have my word, Mr. Moore." He thought back for the second time in one day to all his training as a child, the gun under the floorboards of his bed, though he'd stopped salting the doors and windows when Jess moved in.

"She'll always be safe with me."

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><p><strong>So? What do you think? If you've got a minute, let me know! Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'll see you guys next week! And Dean's back! <strong>


	22. Sam I Am

**I know it's been three weeks and for that I'm truly sorry, but real life sort of punched me in the face. It kinda full on hospitalized me, figuratively speaking. Anyway, I'll make up for it with two unapologetically heartfelt chapters. This Seasflash chapter takes place just after Sam drives off with Dean the weekend Jess dies.**

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><p><strong><strong>_**Year Twenty-Two:**__ Sam I Am_

"You _do_ remember how to handle a gun?" Dean raised his eyebrows as he handed Sam his old favorite: a 9mm Taurus.

"_Yes_, Mom." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Just sayin' Mensa, when I broke in, you came down with a _baseball_ bat."

Dean liked handing out his fair share of nicknames, at first nervously, not sure whether his relationship with Sam would be the same as it was the week before Sam left for Stanford.

But it was like riding a bike, and the way Sam smiled or chuckled or responded he figured it was the same for him, too.

"Look at you, College Boy." Dean would say when Sam found some gold while researching. Or "What took you so long, Scholarship?"

But the first time Dean called him "Sammy" again.

They were in the Impala. Dean had just picked him up from Stanford and they were heading to a motel because Sam _insisted_ on getting sleep if his brother he hadn't seen in years dragged him out of his apartment at midnight.

"Twin bed or queen?" Dean joked as he opened the door to check in. Sam just glared at him, the adrenaline that had been pumping through him since Dean's arrival was slowly abandoning him, leaving him exhausted.

Dean nodded and headed to the front office. Sam closed his eyes, just for a second... "Sam!" Dean banged on the hood and Sam startled, scrambling into a sitting position to see Dean laughing at him through the rolled down window.

"Sorry it took so long."

"You jerk." Sam grumbled. "You scared me on purpose."

Dean clicked his tongue in mock contemplation. "Yeah, well you shouldn't be that easy to scare, bitch."

Sam sighed and knocked Dean with his door to get him to step back, unfolding his freakishly long legs. Dean didn't know when he'd gotten so tall. Maybe he had grown over the Stanford years or maybe Dean had just forgotten how tall he was, either purposefully or accidentally.

"You didn't lose _any_ of that sense of humor, did you, Dean?"

Dean smiled, a bigger smile than he had in years, just hearing Sam's complaining again.

"Aw, come on, you know you missed it, Sammy."

The reaction was instantaneous. Sam froze, his gaze locked somewhere off to Dean's left as he swallowed loudly.

His eyes grew wide and slightly hazy as if he was somewhere else and just for a second, Dean swore he was twelve again. Then Sam blinked and breathed again, locking eyes with Dean.

"It's Sam."

Dean just gave a tight nod, masking the childish hurt he felt at the icy response. Maybe this would take more time than he thought. And there was no way he was just going to disappear again when Sam returned on Monday.

He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

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><p><strong>I know that was short. But I didn't want to draw it out longer than it needed to be. I'll post another chapter toda., in apology for my lack of posts. Sorry again about that! Even though I doubt anyone was actually on the edge of their seats waiting...<strong>


	23. Dead Weight

**Here's Sam's 23rd year! Well... Kind of... Because at this point in time Dean thinks he'll never see Sam turn twenty four. Please don't kill me, but did you expect me to ****_not_** **write something about this? Really? This takes place shortly after All Hell Breaks Loose: Part One**

**UPDATE: Thanks so much to YsrilaN for catching Dean saying "Azazel" He doesn't know about Azazel's name at this time and it has been switched to ol' Yellow Eyes. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong><span>Year Twenty Three: <span>**__Dead Weight_

Dean punched the wall, ignored the stung of pain in his knuckles and cursed aloud.

Cursed Yellow Eyes.

Cursed _Dad_.

Cursed the son of a bitch who stabbed Sammy in the back.

Cursed the God he didn't believe in, because if his god let _this_ happen, Dean wanted nothing to do with him.

Cursed Bobby for suggesting burial.

Cursed himself for not _being_ there when his little brother needed him most.

Cursed himself for outliving his sibling.

Cursed death.

But how was he supposed to cope?

How was he supposed to move _on_ like everything's okay?

How was he supposed to forget Sam's eyes closing the last time?

Bobby said there was a time for everything. He'd hugged Dean with the sentiment he needed, but it wasn't enough.

Dean didn't even try to hide the tears anymore. It's not like Bobby doesn't know they're there.

And how was he supposed to keep his eyes dry as he cleaned his brother's sticky blood from his hand? The only reason he'd taken the time to wash them in the first place was because he couldn't stand the sight.

_Sam's_ blood.

_Sammy's_ blood.

He'd rather it was _his_ blood.

He couldn't pick up a book without being reminded of Sam.

Couldn't touch the Colt that had failed to save him in the end.

So what if Dean couldn't clean the wound on his kid brother's cold back without crying?

On the inside, he hasn't _stopped_ crying since.

Real men don't cry, they say.

Dean Winchester says a real man ain't a man un_til_ he's cried.

Because nothing hardens a man more than feeling the full weight of your only reason to live, limp in your arms, for once thankful that long hair you griped about shields his eyes, those blue-greens you'll never see again.

And the big brother finally learned the meaning of dead weight.

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><p><strong>Pretty please don't hurt me for this chapter. It really struck home with me. I almost feel like I shouldn't do Dean's death, too. Would that be too sad? I don't know. I guess it'll be a surprise... :)<strong>


	24. Can You Say Hi?

**My god, you guys must hate me. It has seriously been WAY too long, and for that I am truly sorry. Time flies. Anyway, happy Season Gr8 :)**

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><p><em><strong>Year Twenty-Four:<strong> Can You Say Hi?_

"Sam?"

He swept his long hair out of his face, tearing his eyes away from Dean to spare a glance at the older hunter.

"Don't you think it's time?"

Sam's watery eyes flicked back to the still figure again. He didn't say a word.

"Sam." Bobby repeated, gently but firmly. "We can have a proper hunter's funeral-"

"_No_." Sam choked out. "He'll- he'll need his body when he gets back."

Bobby growled low in his throat. "Now you're not thinkin' of doing anything stupid, are you?"

Sam gulped, touched Dean's shoulder gently. Pressed, as if when he pushed hard enough the brother would wake up from a deep sleep.

"Son-"

"You're not my _father_!" Sam shouted, standing up and accidentally kicking his chair over.

Because if John were here it'd be different.

Dad traded his life for Dean's.

_Am I such a coward that I won't do the same?_

"Sorry." His voice shook with exhaustion and despair. This had broken him, and Bobby knew it, too.

Sam always looked up to Dean. He'd thought Dean was invincible, some sort of superhero.

That's Dean, Saver of the World.

And now that he's gone, that world is crashing down on Sam. He feels like Atlas, that Greek god forced to hold the world on his back.

Geek boy.

College boy.

_Sammy._

Sam shook his head in an effort to get that voice out of his head— the one he both wanted to hear and didn't simultaneously. It was painful, but would he someday forget it? No, he answered for himself. Because he would get Dean back. Somehow.

One time he'd left to grab food and come back in time to see Dean, drunk, throw his beer bottle at the wall.

"Jesus, Dean! The hell are you doing!"

It wasn't even empty, the liquid dripping down the wall. Dean's face was red, his chest rising angrily as he breathed.

"Dean. You're drunk. Come on, just get in bed."

"No!"

Sam grabbed Dean's arms and forced him towards the bed, the older man fighting him every step.

"Dean! Just get in the damn bed!"

"NO!" Dean shouted, swatting Sam's arms down. "I-I can't remember her voice, Sa-ammy."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. "_Whose_voice, Dean?" Given his big brother's current state, Sam expected it to be the latest stripper.

Dean sat on the bed of his own accord. "Mom's voice, Sammy. Mom's."

Sam's expression softened. "Is that what this is about?"

"It was..._ Beau_tiful, Sam. I-I remember how... How _easy_it was for her to p-put you to sleep..." Sam opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. This was the worst he'd seen Dean in a long time. Like he'd finally cracked after all this misery and pressure.

"She..." Dean laughed quietly. "She sang... Like an angel."

Sam gulped.

"I would try to put you to bed, Sammy, but man, it wouldn't work. That's why Dad had such a hard time getting you to sleep after Mom..."

Dean coughed and sat back, his eyes tired rings of red from exhaustion and alcohol.

"Dean, go to sleep." Sam ordered, but Dean was already halfway there...

"I know we just talked, Bobby, but do you know anything new?"

"No, Sam. I really wish I did, son, but... Look, you've got two weeks. Maybe you should just... Spend some time with Dean before-"

"Before what Bobby? Before he _dies_?" Sam challenged in a hissing whisper, glancing at Dean to make sure he didn't wake him.

"No, no. I'm just saying. What if we can't, son? It's time to think realistically-"

"There's no realistically, Bobby! I'm_ go_ing to save him!"

Bobby closed his eyes and poured himself another. "Don't you go sacrificing yourself like you Winchesters like to do, you hear me? Sam? Sam?"

Having snapped the phone shut, Sam sat on the bed holding it in his hand. It hadn't been fifteen seconds before his phone was ringing again.

"What, Bobby?" He answered tiredly.

"I'll be at your place in ten."

"What? You mean the mo_tel_? How-"

"I've got sources, boy" Bobby hung up and Sam was left with his mouth open, the dropped jaw turning into a long and tired yawn.

Bobby didn't even see the boys face to face. By the time Sam had gotten up to answer the knock on the door, his truck was driving off, leaving some cassettes and a portable player in his place.

"Dean." Sam nudged his brother ten minutes later. He grumbled and woke up, furrowing his brow as Sam connected the player to the TV.

"Can you say hi?" A booming and familiar voice filled the camera and Dean perked up a little.

A small boy smiled and shook his head. His floppy hair fell in his eyes and he bit his lip as he turned shyly from the camera.

"Oh my God..." Sam managed in surprise.

"I forgot about that old thing." Dean reflected, sobering quickly.

"Dad! What's he doing?" Dean came into shot, easily five or six, laughing as he watched an off-camera Sam.

John swerved the camera around, giving the boys a full and fleeting panoramic of a motel room. Sam was spinning in circles, freezing, and collapsing on the ground in a fit of laughter every fifteen seconds. Dean smiled and walked over, but a knock on the door sounded and the small boys' gazes followed it to the side of the room and the tape ended.

"Wonder who that was." Sam said conversationally as he popped out the tape and put another in.

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Dad didn't have that camera for long... But I never thought in a million years he'd keep it. Where'd you get it anyway? Have you... Had... It..." Dean's voice drifted off as his gaze hardened once again on the screen.

"Are they in there?" John sounded younger and less war torn than the last video.

"Nope!" A four-year-old Dean popped his head out of the bedroom, toothy grin matching the one currently on the older hunter's face.

"Alright. Where should we check?"

"Sammy's room!" Dean cried in excitement, jumping up and down.

"Okay," John said. "But you have to be really quiet. He might be sleeping." His voice had fallen to a whisper and Dean whispered back, "Okay, Daddy."

Sam's breath caught and Dean's eyes widened as the camera turned the corner into a too-familiar nursery.

Mary.

_Mary._

Just as Dean remembered her.

Not forgotten after all.

And she was singing. A small bundle that could only be Sam was in her arms, and she hadn't yet noticed the observant eyes of her husband and a surprisingly quiet big brother.

She just sang. Beautifully too, the words falling out effortlessly, maybe not pitch perfect, but soft and calming with a mother's touch.

"Mary?" She looked up and smiled directly at the camera as the footage froze.

"It's broken." Sam said as he held up the ruined tape.

"That's okay." Dean didn't make eye contact. His eyes were wet. "Can't forget now, can I?"

"_Sam_." Bobby's voice jerked the young man back to the present. "How about we bury him, okay? You can't keep pretending he's alive, okay, Sam? He's... _gone_..." Bobby spoke as gently as possible.

Sam looked up, his eyes wet and puffy.

"I can't forget now, can I?" He choked out.

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><p><strong>Hey, do you guys remember when these were only, like, 200 words max? I think I may have hit a record with this bad boy.<strong>

** I'll try to update more frequently and not forget about this story while I work on the newbie (_It's Just the Wind_, for those interested, though I'm pretty sure most of you've seen it.) I really do appreciate all your support!**


	25. Fevered

**Hey guys! Been a while, eh? Thanks for all the reviews, alerts, etc. This'll sound cliche, but they keep me writing :)**

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><p><strong><em>Year Twenty-Five:<em>**_ Fevered_**  
><strong>

Sam was hot.

But not in _that_way, though many girls would agree.

Jess.

Madison.

Ruby.

His heart ached.

His temperature was high, he was sweaty, and had just about had enough of clutching the edges of the "porcelain throne" as Dean so eloquently put it.

_Dean_.

Who was back in the flesh.

Sam had gotten sick before. When Dean was gone. Before Ruby was back. When he was all alone.

There had been no one there for him _that_time.

But it was different now.

Sam had stripped to a t-shirt and boxers hours ago (or was it days?) and now he moaned as he lay over the sheets.

"Sam?" He flinched at the sound of the voice, forgetting in his ocean of memories that Dean was here.

On Earth.

Out of Hell.

In the same room as Sam.

But suddenly that wasn't enough, because Sam had dreamt it before. He'd seen Dean a million times in his sleep, been taunted with a false reality where big brothers were real and pain could be whisked away without whiskey.

He reached his arm up for a half a second before it flopped deadly back into the bed because he was burning

Burning

_Like Dean in Hell_

burning hot from the fever, shivering from the inexplicable cold.

But Dean, real or imaginary, seemed to understand and walked over and simply rested his hand on Sam's shoulder for a minute.

Neither said a word, but the light squeeze by Sam's neck said everything.

"D'n? You go'n s'mw're?" He managed, and Dean didn't respond instantly.

"Never again, Sammy." He answered firmly.

Sam nodded as Dean placed another cool towel on his forehead, but suddenly, curiously, that wasn't enough, the feel of Dean's hand for minutes at a time.

And Dean seemed to pick that up, too, and maybe he agreed. He sat on the edge of the bed at first, but ended up swinging his legs up, boots and all.

"I'm tired." Dean used as a lame excuse, though neither believed it, at least Sam wouldn't if he was feeling like himself. Right now he figured Sam could care less as long as his brother was there. He could tell by the way Sam casually adjusted himself so his feet touched Dean's and made contact.

Sam sighed and relaxed.

"Go to sleep, Sammy." Dean said gently, reaching over his brother to turn off the cheap, un-shaded lamp on the end table.

But sleep was something Sam both feared and could no longer keep at bay...

_Sam slept._

_Sam woke up._

_Sam ate. Sometimes._

_He hunted. Recklessly. Dangerously. Fatally._

_He didn't care._

_He groaned as he was slammed to the ground, a knife held to his neck by the crossroads demon. He smiled tiredly. They hadn't had to use real weapons until Sam came into play. He could be a little... Violent._

_"Haven't seen you in a couple months, Sam." She snarled. "Thought you gave up."_

_"Never." Sam grunted. He closed his eyes and thought of Dean._

_"It's just a routine for you isn't it, Sammy?"_

_"It's Sam."_

_"You're just doing the motions, aren't you?"_

_"I want my brother."_

_"Sammy woke up. Sammy went to bed. Sammy got up and did it all again." She whispered in a sing-song voice._

_"Please."_

_"Are you begging?"_

_Sam closed his eyes. "Y-yes."_

_"Too bad." The knife pressed into Sam's neck and his gaze flicked down._

_She seemed to remember the weapon in her hand. "I'd slit your throat but that's what you want, isn't it?"_

_Sam struggled weakly._

_"I've heard of you, Sam. What you've been doing. You're trying to get yourself killed. You want to die."_

_"I'll take Dean's place."_

_"No."_

_"I'll do anything. Kill me."_

_"But Sam." She replied, her red lips at his ear. "Isn't letting you live just killing you already?"_

_She chuckled. "You would never just let me get a hold of you like this."_

_"Would I?" Sam retorted, and with a sudden surge of power he plunged Ruby's knife into her chest, watching the fiery light leave her eyes. She collapsed on top of him, but Sam didn't care._

_Sammy woke up. Sammy went to bed. Sammy got up and did it all again._

_Sammy..._

_It's Sam..._

Sam...

"Sam..."

He started and opened his eyes, slamming his limp hand into the lamp when Dean's face appeared inches from his.

"Jesus," Dean mumbled, catching the base just before it toppled over.

"I just need you to take these." He opened his hand, a couple pills lying in his palm.

He helped Sam sit up and held his elbow tightly as he downed the drugs with a bottle of water.

"How you feeling?"

"Not so hot." Sam mumbled. "Which means way _too_hot." He was coated in a sheen of sweat. He felt sticky and gross, like he really just needed a long shower.

But he doubted he could stand.

Dean's hand left his arm and Sam let himself fall back into the pillows.

He didn't feel his brother's presence return and almost believed it to have been another dream when Dean collapsed back onto the bed beside him. Sam had no idea what time it was, but it must be late, as Dean seemed to actually be slightly tired this time.

He rolled over and flung his arm over Dean's chest as if he was asleep. He didn't know if Dean knew or not. He feinted sleep pretty well, but he couldn't usually get past the one who'd practically taught him how to lie.

But if Dean knew, he didn't say a thing, because sometimes you just need a hug, fever-induced or otherwise.

And sometimes you need the rise and fall of your breathing brother's chest to tell you to go to sleep.

This time, he might just be there when you wake up...


	26. Last Meals

**I don't have much time, so I'll take what I do have and put this up as well as thank you for all the love for this story. Thanks, guys!**

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><p><strong>Year Twenty-six: <strong>Last Meals

Dean nodded a thanks to Bobby and stood up, grabbing his emptied plate and carrying it to the kitchen.

Sam had pushed his plate away five minutes after they'd sat down, mumbling something about not being hungry, but Dean knew his brother and Sam hadn't eaten all day.

_He didn't want a last meal._

Dean turned the water on and washed most of the food away, but the sauce from the pasta wouldn't come off.

Dean sighed, restrained from slamming the plate against the edge of the sink, and looked around for a rough sponge.

He snatched it up and rubbed the plate hard, ignoring the cringing sound as they made contact, not realizing he was holding his breath, scratching harder and harder, because it wouldn't come _off_, it had to come _off_. Was he not even strong enough to wash _pasta_ off his dinner plate? He scratched and scratched and scratched, the water was _loud_, the sound of the sponge on the porcelain was _loud_, but none of it was loud enough to drown out the sound of his conscience as he scrubbed and scrubbed and tried to scrub away his thoughts but it was just amplifying the little voice in his head and— a gentle hand on his shoulder made him stop scrubbing.

"Dean," Bobby spoke softly. "It's okay. That's what the dishwasher is for." He took the plate out of the man's wet hand and placed it to the side.

He moved until Dean's eyes met him and he sighed at how dead they looked, but he understood. Dean had given his brother permission to die. This was the zombie he had expected.

"Go see Sam." He spoke. Dean nodded and brushed past him.

He checked the bedroom first, but Sam wasn't in there, in fact, he wasn't in the house at all. It wasn't until he glanced out a window that Dean spotted his brother.

"Sammy." Dean just about whispered as he walked onto the porch. There was Sam, in a rocking chair, using his massive legs to push himself back and forth.

Dean's boots clunked as he walked but Sam didn't tear his eyes away from the horizon, which gave Dean an extra minute to get his game face on.

"Sam?"

Sam turned his head to face Dean slowly. "I just wanted to sit outside." He said simply, as if he needed an excuse for anything.

"It's okay, Sammy."

"I just couldn't eat—"

This time Dean placed a strong hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy." He squeezed and then rubbed Sam's back, mostly for his own benefit. "You want to go inside? It's getting cold out."

"No." Sam said. "No." His eyes were back on the sky. "Can we just sit out here, please?"

And Dean's heart skipped a beat and his knees grew weak at the sound of Sam's voice, like he was already dead.

"Whatever you want."

They sat on the Impala for a while, and one of them would occasionally bring up an old memory.

"Remember when Dad left me in charge for the night and came back the next morning to find you sleeping in the bathtub? Who would've known you were a sleepwalker?"

"Dean, you were so scared that first time I lost a tooth. It was funny."

"Was not. That was friggin' frightening."

But eventually the conversations became too strained and by the time it got dark and Bobby got to wondering where they were, the boys were laying on the trunk of the Impala watching the stars.

Sam pointed out Orion, the hunter, and Dean resorted to trying to find the Dippers.

Sam sighed and turned his head to rest on Dean's shoulder.

"I-is there anything you want?" Dean whispered, not wanting to disturb the mood.

_Any last requests_? Sam heard.

He shook his head.

"Nothing?" Dean asked in surprise. Then he realized. There wasn't time. He had had a year to skim his bucket list.

Sam had days and all he'd wanted was a night under the stars with the comfort of his big brother beside him.

Dean bit his lip and tried to keep his emotions in check.

"You about ready to go in, Sammy?" Dean asked softly a little while later when Sam hadn't spoken in a while.

"Sam?" He looked down and saw Sam still had his forehead on Dean's shoulder, his eyes closed.

"We'll stay on the Impala, then."

Sam turned his head further into Dean, not caring that he was twenty-six and nuzzling into his brother like he was five.

It was his last night on Earth, and if he wanted Dean he would get Dean, goddammit.

"Hey, Dean—" Sam spoke into his brother's side.

"You still awake?"

"Dean—"

"Don't give me the speech, Sam. I _forgive_ you, I really do. No end of days speeches, okay? No confessing your sins or shoulda-coulda-wouldas, okay?"

"No, Dean," Sam lifted his tired eyes, his blue greens meeting his big brother's emeralds.

"_Thank_ you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Sam's breathing deepened and Dean continued to run his thumb over the younger man's back, the same way he had years and years ago.

"No Sammy," He whispered. "Thank _you_."


	27. Spill it

**Hi guys, sorry it took so long to upload! Just two or three more chapters until I'm caught up. We got Season six here, followed by season seven, the year between seven and eight, and then eight!**

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><p><strong><em>Year Twenty-seven: Spill it<em>**

Dean juggled the bags of groceries in one hand to dig the motel room keys out of his pocket. He nudged the door with his foot, hoping Sam would open it before their newly-bought beers shattered on the disgusting concrete beneath his feet. "Sammy!" He shouted, but rolled his eyes when he got no response. It was eight-thirty, the kill joy was probably dead asleep already.

He finally twisted the key and knocked the door open. He managed to set the food down on the desk, kicking the door shut behind himself.

"Sam?" Dean spoke softly when he saw Sam sitting on the couch, his head in his hands.

"Dean," Sam whispered brokenly. He sounded so hurt. "I remembered."

Dean sighed and walked over, sitting closer than they used to, before Death built the wall in Sam's head.

It was normal now, especially when Sam remembered. Like tonight.

"Spill it or kill it?" Dean asked, half-jokingly, and half-serious, as the small rhyme had hit home when Sam was like this.

_Kill it_ meant Sam could deal on his own. Would tear this memory from the inside out because he knew deep down it wasn't the real him back there.

_Spill it_ was different. Spill it meant Sam needed help. It meant he needed Dean's reassurance, to have Dean tell him it would be okay. It mean Sam wasn't okay.

"Spill it." Sam's voice cracked.

Dean nodded and waited patiently.

"Her name w-was Julie." Sam whispered. Dean put his arm around Sam, who tensed before leaning into it.

"And she was eleven years old."

Dean blinked. He always thought he was immune to Spill It's. He had gotten so use to hearing these stories that he became an icy heart of broken records, reminding himself as much as his brother that it wasn't Sam, it wasn't Sam.

It wasn't_ Sam_.

"Sh-she lived in New Orleans with her older brother, Sean." Sam almost choked out the name. "He was fourteen."

Dean rubbed Sam's shoulder, pretended not to see the tear streak down Sam's face like always.

"Dean," Sam faced him, his face red and humbly wet. "They were possessed. And I was in a hurry. A damn_ hurry_. I d-don't know what the rush was."

Sam took a shaky breath and let it out, closing his eyes and shuddering the second he did like he was reliving the memory. He rubbed the nape of his neck and hesitated before looking up at Dean.

"I stabbed them both."

Dean bit his lip, because this was no time to speak, he knew that, but couldn't help himself as he pulled Sam close and hugged him tight.

"It wasn't you, Sammy." He finally mumbled as Sam's breathing hitched. "It wasn't the Sam I know."

"But my hand held the knife, Dean. You can't argue that."

"N...no, I can't, but I can argue that it wasn't _you_, Sam. This you." He tapped Sam's chest with his hand.

Sam nodded and sniffed again and Dean handed him a tissue.

"That wasn't my little brother, and I _know_ my little brother. This is. This right here. Sammy, if that... thing was even partially you it wouldn't have been so quick to... you know."

"Off children?"

"Yeah. Exactly." Dean drug in a ragged breath and patted Sam on the shoulder one more time. "Now come on. I didn't bring beers home for nothing."

Sam smiled sadly. "I'll just start drowning my sorrows with beer. Sounds good."

"Sounds like alcoholism."

"Sounds like Dad."

Dean chuckled and popped the cap off off two beers, handing one to Sam.

"I'll pass, Dean." Sam said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. He lay down on the couch.

Dean shrugged. "Well, okay, then." He took a swig of each jokingly but Sam wasn't even paying attention. He'd already turned to face the back of the couch, curled up surprisingly well for such a giant.

"You know, we're not all perfect." Dean said. Sam tensed as he spoke, a sign he wasn't yet asleep. "Sometimes I wish I could kill it, too, Sammy. But it's not always that easy. So feel free to spill anytime."

"'M'kay." Sam mumbled.

"Cause you know what I do when you spill something?"

"What?" Sam mumbled.

Dean smiled at Sam's back. "I clean it all up."

* * *

><p><strong>That's all for now folks. See you next week!<strong>


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